
Class _X-^i>_3 






Bonk t ll5^ I 2 



Q)p>TightN«_4in_ 



COPVRIGHT DEPOSrr 



XTwo ©tapes, 



0r: Zhc Blue a^^ Zhc 6raip, 



an^ otber poems, 



TTbomas flDoore Ikenn^, 



^Baltimore : 
1902. 



THE LIBRARY OF 

CONGRESS, 
Two Copies Received 

my. 13 1902 

CpPYRIQHT ENTRY 

CLASS I^XXc No. 
COPY B. 






COPYRIGHT 1902. 
BY THOMAS MOORE KENNY. 



EDITION LIMITED. 



Contents 



Dedication, . 

Two Graves, Or: The lfi,UE and The Gray, 

Three Ships, (with note) 

Comradeship, 

Love's Entreaty, . 

The Sii^ent Army, 

Paddy Hines' Breeches, 

Non Sibi, Sed Patria, 

Wanted, A Man, 

ChANCELIvORSVIIvI^E , 

My Sweetheart, 

Armed in Conscience, 

The Royal Bi^ue, . 

Antietam, 

Christ, the Pattern, 

The Eden of the Heart, 

Passing of the Regiment, 

Christmas, 1861, (with note) 

Do I IvOVE Thee? . 

Like Sire, Like Son, (with note) 

Boys, We Sai,ute You! 

The Lady and the Lii^y, 

The Fi,ag of Monterey, 

Living for Christ, 

To My First Love, 

The Fourth of Jui.y, . 

Sound the Advance! 

The Oi<d Canteen, (song) 

The Battle of Life, 

Our Fallen Comrades, 

The Bang-ed Cob, Or; Pegasus Unwinged, 

The Wanderer's Return, 

The Luray Caves, . 

Amor te Salutat, (series of 3) 

Admiral Schley, Hero of Santiago, 



PAGE. 

7 

9 
. 20 

23 
. 27 

30 
. 33 

36 
. 41 

44 
. 47 

49 
. 51 

53 
. 56 

59 
. 60 

62 
. 65 

66 
. 68 

71 

73 

76 
. 78 

79 
. 81 

83 
. 85 

87 
. 89 

91 
. 94 

97 
. 98 



A Reminiscence, 

"The Baltimore," (series). 

Nacirema, To Schi^ey, (acrostic) 

Our Hero Guest, . 

A Prediction Verified, 

The "Mud Batti,e," (with note) 

An IdyIv ov Gray Gabi,es, 

In Memoriam, Rev. Dr. M. D, Babcock, 

Sowing the Seed, . 

Memorial Day, . 

Tonight, (song) 

No Thoroughfare, 

Boys, Go Slow! 

Edgar Allen Poe, 

The Sham Battle, 

In Memoriam, John I,. Thomas, 

How Sleep the Brave, 

My Maryland; A Song of Triumph, (political) 

Love is Ever Young, 

Christmas, .... 

Tot, Who Sucks His Thumb, (song) 

The Veteran's Pledge, (song) 

Goodness Never Dies, 

Forward! Comrades, . 

Our First Born, 

Firemen, Well Done! 

The Kirk- Yard, 

The Bivouac, .... 

Vive la Boys in Blue, (song) . 

The Modern David, (political) 

Boys of 'Sixty-One, (song) 

A Thought, 

Old Defenders, (acrostic) 

The Wedding Bell, 

Welcome the "Boys in Blue 

Sweet Violets, 

Even Unto Death, 

On the Battle Field, 

Have Faith! 

L'Envoi, . 



page. 
100 

. 101 
105 

. 106 
108 
109 
111 
112 
114 
115 
117 
118 
119 
121 
123 
125 
126 
128 
130 
132 
134 
136 
137 
138 
140 
141 
144 
146 
147 
149 
150 
152 
153 
154 
155 
156 
157 
158 
159 
160 



TWO GRAVES, 

Or: The Blue and The Gray, 

AND 

OTHER POEMS. 



Dedication. 

And thou, O Menotomy* — 
Where saw I first the light of day, 

What shall I say of thee? 
Thy hills and dales the Pilgrim trod ; 
Seemingly forsaken, still trusted they — God ; 
Broke, first, the shackles would them bind. 
Then freedom preached, for all of humankind. 

No honor thine, to give me birth ; 
Among thy sons, one only, of lesser worth, 

Creditor art thou, and I thy debtor! 
Nor shall I strive the debt to pay, 

Save in this humble way. 
Thrice twenty years, Menotomy, have flown — 

Accounting from mine natal morn. 

And thou art wondrous grown. 
Yet, ('tis pleasant so to dream) 

Still, in my mind, I seem 

To hear, loud and clear. 
The clarion voice of Paul Revere, 
(As in my youth methought I heard it) 
As thro' thy streets he galloped on 

From Charlestown to lycxington. 
They failed him not — thy Minute Men ; 

Nor yet again, in 'Sixty-one, 
The war-drum called thy sons in vain. 
'Of this world's goods, little do I possess," 

And, reckoning with Fame, still less; 



2)eDication, 



Yet will I say, richer far am I 
Than some who would poor me decry, 

Remembering I my heritage. 

Permeate thy air with liberty, 
This, this is the debt I owe, Menotomy, 
That thou didst plant, deep and sure — 
In my young heart, with every breath I drew, 
Love of country ! strong, and to endure. 

So cradled, when Sumter fell ; 
'Old Glory"— the flag of Bunker Hill, 
Trailed in the dust ; no true son of thine 
Menotomy, could idly stand ; supine, 

While others nobly wrought ; 
Neither credit I myself, but thee — 
Who wert my teacher, loved Menotomy, 

It came to pass that I should bear 
In that dread hour, an humble share. 

And should it be of mine some word 

Have other hearts inspired — 
lyovers of liberty ; 
The inspiration's thine! not mine ; 

Of thee was I so taught. 

* * * * 

Beloved, in bidding thee farewell, 
I do not say "Remember me," 
That would indeed be vanity ; 
I only ask — albeit an absent one — 
That I may say, "Menotomy, I am thy son." 



♦Indian name of Arlington, Mass., (formerly West Cambridge,) 



tlwo Grapes, 

©c: Zbc Mine anO tbc ©ra^. 

Note : The poem is supposed to tell the story of the Civil 
War, from start to finish: of the sacrifice of life and property; 
the preservation of the Union, and the reunion of the North 
and South. 

Never heer'd 'bout thet scout, you say, 

An' how I come to settle here'n old Verginny? 

lyc'see, Jim, haven't seen you since '64 

I reck'n ; twenty year, or more, 
lyot o' changes since then, ol' man, 
Some, p'raps, so startlin', one can 

Hardly 'spect such things could be ; 
Yet, who's to question, when He do so decree? 
One o' the hap'nin's, Jim, was that scout, 

Or what come of it, an' no doubt 
You'll say — when I tell the 'sequence. 
Strange indeed, th' ways o' Providence. 

You an' I, Jim, was boys t'gether — 
Down'n ol' Maine ; an', I take it, w'ether 
We was good boys or bad, no matter now, 
Be it, Jim? All we wants t' know is, how 
An' what kind o' men we be, you an' I, 
An' when we does a thing, t' know the reason why. 

But 'bout that scout. 
Y'r know, Jim, when Sheridan started out 
T' jine Grant, way down below thar, 
Some o' the boys was left to take care 
O' ole Mosby ; for, as we use' t' say 
9 



tlwo (Braves. 

""When the cats away the mice '11 play." 
More like a flea? Well, I guess you're right, 

One minute here, an' next out o' sight, 
That was ol' Mosby, you kin bet. 
An' here's his health, Jim. Will you wet? 

That's right, ol' man. No ill will now, 
Let by-gones be by-gones, an', seein' as how 
He blow'd me some good, {she knows) 

I'll gin him another — an' here goes! 



Well, Jim, as I was sayin'. 

After Phil was off, a few of us was stayin' 

'Bout here (sort o' grievin', too, 
Playin' home-guard, an' nuthin much t' do, 
'Cept watchin them g'rillers) when one day 
In come a scout, ridin' as if — was t' pay. 

We know'd suthin was up, an' twant long 
'Fore "Boots an' Saddles" blow'd ; clear an' strong. 
You know'd little Harry, Jim? an' his horn? 

Jim, he lies over thar ; 'mong that 'ar corn. 
We laid him yonder, Jim — she and I. 
He was a good boy, was Harry, an — 

I say, ol' man, don't cry! 
lyC's hope as how he hears us, up yonder, 
Talkin' 'bout him. Is he an angel now, I wonder. 
If he be, an' I reck'n he mus' be, Jim, 
or Gabrell '11 have to hustle to beat hhn. 
Well, you know'd the boys, Jim, an' you know 
Didn't take long t' git in line, after that blow. 

We was layin' over yonder, t'other side o' peak 
(or Loudon, y'r know) an' near "Old Union" creek, 

10 



Uwo Graves, 



An', from what the scout said, soon I'arned 
Ther'd likely be a scrimmage ; an' I'll be dumed 

If we wa'nt glad. An' so we said ; 
But, Jim, some as said so, are now dead. 

We p'inted this way, on startin', for Snicker's Gap, 
Throwin' out scouts — so's to git in no trap — 

An', movin' quick, got thar 'bout dark. 

Hear her movin' in thar, Jim? Hark! 
That 'ar branch rattlin' gainst the glass? 

Right. Well, we reached the pass 
'Bout dusk, an' then went slow. 
As we know'd them g'rillers — if they'd a show — 

Would catch us nappin' ; an' then 
They know'd the country better' n our men. 
An' somehow had a wayo' bringin' a man down 
'Fore we knew thar was ary one aroun.' 

So — still keepin' a sharp lookout 
For fear they might be somewhar' about, 

We come humpin' along down the hill 
Till pretty well o' this side, an' still 

We saw no sign o' ary Johnny Reb ; 
But, bless you, Jim, no more don't that fly, 

Bus'n 'bout that web. 
The ol' spider was thar, Jim, layin' low 
An' waitin' for his fly, like that one ; jus' so. 

Was best off, too, bein' out o' sight, 
Spos'n he wanted t' run, or show fight. 
But our Cap'n was no fool ; you know that, Jim, 
So, ol' "Mose" might set his trap an' bedurnedto him. 

Mighty close shave tho' — for some — 
11 



Uwo Graves. 



An' no knowin' who'd gone t' kingdom come 
If ther'd been a leetle less light up thar ; 
An' ole Sol has my thankee for that, I sw'ar. 

Any how, the "Johnnies" kep' pretty shady, 

Seein' twas light, an' we ready ; 
Ay, an' willin' too, if they'd come close ; 

Ready, Jim, for better or worse 

Should be a sojer's motto ; 
We'll all agree to that, fren' or foe. 

Spinnin' too long a yarn, I reck'n, 
But with you here, Jim, mem'ries quicken 

As if 'twas only yesterday; an' we 

Again in the saddle, an' gay an' free 
As when I swung that blade ! 

An' now — I'm fifty-three. 

That's not old? Well, p'raps not. 
Yet, 'long o' marchin', wet 'n dry, cold 'n hot, 
I mus' say I don't feel quite so frisky now 

As I did then ; an' Jim, you must allow 
We're both git'n along on ther down grade, 
Altho', trust'n in the Great Cap'n, no more afraid 

Than when we followed that sojerin' trade. 

Off ther track again, Jim, with that yarn. 
Did yer notice — as yer come by, that ol' barn? 
Up thar, I mean, 'long side that clump o' bushes. 

Well, we'd reached 'bout thar, when out rushes 
Them ar "Johnnies" — pell-mell, with that yell 
Or 'hoop they al'us give, puttin' one in mind o' — 

Or pack o' Satan's imps, an' then, 
Z-zip, z-zip, came th' bullets 'mongourmen. 

12 



TLvQo (Braves. 



We didn't run, Jim, you bet ; but jus' turned in 

An' give 'em shot for shot ; 

An' goin' in t' win 
As weal'us did — if we had a show. 
The "boys" could fight, Jim, as you know. 

'Twas nip'n tuck then, for awhile, 
But fin'ly they scooted, an' for mor'n a mile 

We foUer'd — keep'n up a runniu' fight. 
Till they got clean off an' out o' sight. 
Fought all 'long by here, an', when we come back, 
Thar lay the boys — both sides, all 'long ther track. 

I^ittle brother Harry, as I said, lies over thar. 

Was one as fell, an' I declar 
Jim, ther boys was sorry for him as ary one ; 
Such a manly little feller, an' full o' fun 

In camp, or on ther march, as he could stick, 

An' altho' only a boy, a reg'lar brick 
When it come ter fightin' ; an I vow — 
Say, Jim, did yer hear her movin', jus' now? 

Guess I'll talk a leetle low, Jim, for fear 
She might hear what we're talkin' 'bout, out here. 
Whisper, Jim. 'Longside o' Harry thar, an' dead, 

Lay one o' 'tother chaps ; shot thro' ther head. 

Thar we foun' /ter too, Jim, kneelin' 
By his side, an' callin, an' weepin', an' callin' 
On him ter answer ; t' speak to her, she said. 

Only for once. Plow could he, Jim? an' he dead. 

So wetol' her, Jim, but 'twant no use. 
She still kep' callin', til' (a sort o' ruse 
For movin' /ler) we said we'd bring him here ; 

An did ; an' laid him yonder thar. 
13 



XTwo (Braves. 



She was his sister, Jim, it 'peared, 
An' the way she took on, we ruther feared 
She mought lose her mind ; go mad, y'r know ; 
An' so ol' "Sawbones" tol' her, but 'twant no go, 
As she 'lowed she'd stay thar, an' did stay, 
Until we buried him, at break o' day — 
An' Harrj'^ too, down'n ther field yonder. 
Are they comrades now, I wonder? 

You know how I loved that boy, Jim ; 
Thar was only two of us — me'n him. 

After father' n mother died ; an' then 

Come th' war ; th' call for men. 
Harry was only a boy then, but when I 'listed 
Said he'd go, too; an' altho' at first I 'sisted 

He ought to stay home, begged so hard 
I fin'ly give in. Was that right, ol' pard? 

Think so? Well, so did I, then. 
But, Jim, boj's is boys, an' men — men; 
An', some how or other, I of'n wonder 

Why I was left, an' he — yonder! 

Fortun' o' war? Yes, so they say — 
Them as 'scapes, but what o' the dead, pray? 
Fell'n a good cause? Aj^ so'd the "Rebs," too, 
'Cordin' to them ; an' jus' as proud to wear 

The Gray, as we the Blue. 
I say that, Jim, 'cause I want t' feel 
I bears no grudge when I come t' kneel 

By them graves — hers an' mine — 
Where flowers bloom an' intertwine 
Just th' same, Jim, as if both boys fought 
For what we b'leeve was just, an' right. 

14 



Uwo ©raves. 



An' so I left him here, my boy, Harry. 
As you know, Jim, sojers cannot tarry 
When duty calls, for dead or livin'. 
An' even then, Jim, she wuz so forgivin' 

As t' promise no harm should come 
T' Harry's grave, 'till I could take him home. 
Forgivin', did I say? Ay, noble we're told, are those 
Who, in thar own, take heed o' others woes. 

I thought so then, Jim, an' think so now. 

An' that, Jim, I may say, is how — 
Thinkin' 'bout Harry so much, thought o' her, too, 

If her's was Gray, an' mine Blue ; 
Till — well, I might as well own up, Jim, 
I come t' think as much 'bout her, as him. 

Yes, she struck me a heap, as you says, 

Had so much o' sense, an' winnin' ways, 
(Qualeties bound ter 'tract 'tention from a man) 
That, ther more thought I, "I'll win yer, if I can." 

Was a kind o' romance 'bout it, too, 
She bein' o' th' Gray, an' I th' Blue, 

An' not 'zactly romance, but ruther, 
(Seein' 'twas thro' us she'd lost her brother) 

A sort o' 'sponsibility, y'r know 
To do what I could to soften that blow. 

Not many as thought that, y'er say? 
Well, thar was some as did, an' after that 'fray 

I knows I did, for one, an' Jim, 

As each on us has ter ans'er ter Him, 
When conscience 'forms me what is right, 
I do it. Thankee, Jim, I know'd yoii would, on sight. 

15 



XTwo (Braves* 



When ther war closed, our boys marched out 
As they marched in — full o' hurray an' shout. 

Not all, tho', Jim, for some was thar 
As tempered vict'ry with tears, an' pray'r ; 
Tears for th' dead, an' pray'r for the livin' ; 

Pray'r that vict'ry miq^ht prove a blessin'. 

Moralizin'? Well, I reck'n yer right. 

An' I'll try, as ther boys say, t' expedite. 
Yet, Jim, like th' prolog' in th' play, 
Guess I better tell what she had t' say, 

As that'll serve th' better to explain 

Why, bein' here, I chose to remain. 
She said, Jim, that after her brother was gone, 
She only thought, at first, t' weep an' mourn 

For her lost one, until at last 
They might meet again, all sorrow past. 

Said they'd know'd little o' the world 

An' cared still less ; 
They had each other, an' that was happiness. 
As for fortun', she said, what matter? 

lyove took no note o' riches, 'cept t' scatter 
At ther feet o' love ; nor stopped to reason 
Much o' earth, who deemed their earth a heaven. 

So they'd lived, till war come, in peace ; 
An' then came death ; an' deep distress. 
We o' the North, she said, when the war closed, 
Was welcomed as victors, with loud applause. 

Home, to us, meant plenty, peace, 'n love, 
An' people tried how best their love to prove. 

Some Northern homes desolate? Yes, I know, 
But here, where all hearts was bleedin', a gen'ral woe. 

16 



Uwo ©raves. 



The rich made poor, an' poor far poorer still, 
No trumpets rung for them, an' chill 
Indeed, the welcome home 

Where all is poverty, an' gloom. 

I tol' her, when I come, 'twas 'count o' brother; 
That it made no dif'rence to me, whether 
'Twas here, or thar, as I was all alone. 

No folks to speak on — no home. 
An' that, Jim, seemed to bring us close together. 
Her brother lay over yonder, so did mine, 
A kindred sympathy, an' so, a common shrine. 

No hate e'er bides where pity lives, 
An' love, they say, "first pities, then forgives." 

Seein' she was in need, I made a 'scuse 
O' remainin' near by, by most any sort o' ruse 

I could think of ; nor did she dream 
That such a 'scuse was other than 't did seem. 
Told her, Harry's remains couldn't be moved til' 
spring ; 

Lack o' transportation ; most anything 

So 'twould serve to keep — 
Right you are, Jim, I was in 'bout knee deep. 

Lucky for her, p'raps, I did stay, 

Else he might a had his way, 

An' — who's he, did yer say? 
One o' them chaps we read 'bout in books. 
As thinks all a woman wants is money, or good looks. 

Character? Lor' bless you, Jim, had none; 
Thought he had her there — under his thumb. 
Had a mor'gage, y'r see, on this 'ere place, 

17 



Uwo 6rapes. 



Thought to jine her, too, in his embrace 

By tellin' her he'd have her, or foreclose! 
That's the way he took, Jim, to propose. 

What could she do. Slaves was all away. 

An', as she raised nothin', couldn't pay. 

He was a sojer too, so they say. 
I doubts it, sojers don't act that way! 
I was stayin', them days, thar by the wood, 
Use' to come over, too, 'bout as of n as I could — 

'Thout ' tract 'n too much notice. 
So, thinkin' something was up, some hocus pokis, 

(She 'peared so onhappy like, an' distressed) 

At last I vent 'red to suggest 
As I could be o' any use, I was ready. 

Told her, Jim, 'twas on account o' Harry. 

She told me, then, what it were ; 
Why that 'ar chap wanted ter marry her. 
An', Jim, next time he come t' make a move, 

He foun' he'd caught a hawk, 

Whar he tho't to trap a dove. 
That's 'bout the whole story, Jim, 
For, as she was 'greed, I soon fixed him, 

Mor'gage an' all ; an' then — say, Jim, 

When we buried them boys yonder. 
Who'd tho't they would prove love's harb'nger? 
Yet so it was, an' wife an' I, kneelin' thar. 

Seem t' feel their presence near ; 

Present, Jim, an' hand in hand, 
Blessin' us, an' our dear land. 

18 



ZvQO Graves. 



So was the story told — and then — 
Methought I heard a whispered, sweet "Amen,' 

And turning, saw 'twas ske — 
She of whom he'd spoke so tenderly. 
And by her side, (within a haloed ray) 
Two boys, one dressed in Blue, the other Gray. 
No other word she spoke, nor yet did they ; 
But with a loving smile, a sweet caress. 

So sweet, so full of tenderness 
None other but an angel might possess. 
They stood, while unseen host sang, far above 

"Whom He chasteneth. He doth love." 



19 



Ubxcc Sbips. 

Note : The Maryland Colony was founded at St. Marys, in 
March, 1634; the destruction of the tea ship Peggy Stewart took 
place in the harbor of Annapolis in October, 1774. In the poem 
(in its figurative sense) the voyage of the Ark and the Dove is 
illustrative of the religious trials and persecutions through which 
the colonists passed, to the proclamation of Religious Liberty, 
on May 1, 1649 : the voyage of the Peggy Stewart, the attempt 
on the part of Great Britain to override the political rights of 
the people — "spurning the wave" of the colonists' wrath until 
buried in the storm so aroused — and the attainment of Civil 
Liberty. 

Two ships sail o'er the sea, 

Over the sea and bay, 

And brave the men, the women strong, 

Who sing of peace and liberty. 

Brave of heart, of word and deed 

And strong of faith, a creed 

Of love is theirs, 

And the work that is sought, 
And the work that is wrought 
In His name is done, 
So freely gives of His benison. 

From Mary's land to Mary's land 
Over the sea they sail. 

With straining eyes and anxious hearts 
For the realm beyond the veil ; 

Over the sea, over the sea 

The good ships Ark and Dove, 

Their "pillar of cloud" their trust in God, 

Their "pillar of fire" His love, 
20 



Ubree Sbips. 



To Him their prayer holds wind and wave 

In the hollow of His hand, 
That He will good deliv' ranee make 

And bring them safe to land. 
Over the sea, over the sea 
While the Storm King rides at will ; 
While the troubled waters heed His word 

Who bade them "Peace, be still!" 
On and on o'er the ocean's deep 
While the stars change one by one, 
And thrice the night orb runs her course 

Ere the far off haven's won : 
The hand of faith upon the helm, 
The star of hope the beacon bright. 
On, to the shore whence sprung the word 
Shed far abroad a glorious light. 
And the work was sought 
And the work was wrotight — 
Freedom to worship God — 
Is the fairest flower that ever bloomed 
In the land of the golden rod. 
******* 

And many years were come and gone 
Since those ships had crossed the sea ; 
Since the cry, "Land, ho!" brought tears of joy 

To that goodly company ; 
The Ark and Dove had passed away, 

But not forgot were they, 
When another ship (of gallant air) 
Came sailing o'er sea and bay. 



21 



XTbree Sbips. 



And cheeks were paled, 
And faint hearts quailed 
In the realm of Terra Mariae, 
For the work she sought 
(Thank God! ne'er wrought) 
Presaged of tyrann5^ 

Over the sea, over the sea 

With the southwind's fitful breath ; 

Now, bellying full in the freshened breeze 

Her white wings flecked the foam beneath ; 

While the storm is gath'ring thick and fast. 

Now, on o'er the tempest wave. 

Spurning at morn the embrace 

At eve is her last resting place. 

For helm and sail do nought avail 

In the storm besets her path 

For the Storm King rides is a People's pride. 

And the storm their mighty wrath. 
And the work was sought 
A?td the work was wrought — 
A Nation's liberty — shall stand 
While lives, by birth or free acclaim, 
A son of Maryland . 



22 



Comrabesbip. 

Dedicated to the Union Veterans of Maryland. 

In comradeship, with story, jest and merry song, 
Happil}'-, now, the hour we speed along. 
In comradeship, just as of old, 

When — assembled round the camp-fire, we told 
Of marches, battles, hopes, and fears, 
Mingled our laughter, and our tears. 

In life's decline, in spirit are we boys once more 
E'er while we meet ; gladdening — as of yore, 
Kach heart despondent, with words of cheer. 

Boys? They called us "boys," around this board are 
met ; 
"Boys in Blue;" are any would forget? 

The lines are deep, across the furrowed brow. 

And locks are gray, but all our hearts, I trow 

No older grown ; so, boys we'll ever be (in 
sobriquet) 

Till the last "Boy in Blue" has passed away. 

Not long have we to wait for "taps" to sound, 

Time, and Death, still make their "Grand Round;" 

But, until death come, this then the countersign 

(A comrade's pledge) "To Auld lyang Syne!" 
"With charity for all, malice to none," 
As comrades, and comrades onlj^ known, 

(To rank no precedence, for rank's sake alone) 

We meet, to honor give, praise where praise is due — 

A soldier's recompense, to all who wore "the Blue." 
With kindly thought for one-time foe, 
23 



Comra&esblp. 



Brothers we, full of the tender after-glow 

Born of comradeship ; of hearts endeared ; 

Hearts ever faithful, wherein are reared 
Altars pure as of virgin gold ; nor base alloy 
The brightness mars, and death alone, destroy. 

Fraternity — true comradeship, the base. 
Charity the die, the capstone — I^oyalty, in place, 
At such an alar are we met once more, 

(A remnant to the host has gone before) 
That once again we fealty may declare 
To yon loved flag! Old Glory, waving there ; 

Comrade to Comrade, to pledge anew 

A comrade's friendship ; tried, and true. 
Friendship ; Comradeship. Ah, who can tell 
Of the courage given, the responsive thrill 

Awakes his soul when the glint of steel 

Affrights the eye, or the shriek of shell 

Sings in his ear a requiem wild — 
The soldier lad from home beguiled ; 
Beguiled, mayhap, by dreams of fame, 
Who ne'er hath breathed the battle's flame ; 

Who hears the "z-zip" of the rifle ball, 

Beholds his comrades round him fall ; 
Whose soul grows faint with the sight of blood — 

Tinging the green of the furrowed sod ; 
Whose heart-strings tug within his breast 
E'en while he leaps o'er the bastion's crest ! 
"Conscience," 'tis said, "makes cowards of us all." 
No coward he, who knows that he may fall, 
That death is near ; yet who, for honor strikes a blow, 

And fearing, his fear doth overthrow. 
24 



ComraDesbip. 



In this doth comradeship bear its part ; 

A touch of the elbow, heart to heart. 
'Tis born, with the glance of a kindly eye, 
Of the grasp of a hand, a sjanpathizing sigh. 

Born, of the battle's din ; of dangers dire ; 

On the picket line ; round the bivouac fire. 
Born, but not to die, within his breast, 
Till he sinks to sleep, in his final rest. 
Distant from home, from all of home's embrace, 
Who filled then a wife's? a mother's place? 

Wounded ; dying ; with fevered lip. 

From whose canteen the refreshing sip? 
Hungered, trudging thro' mud, or blinding dust, 
Whence came the share of a proffered crust? 
Whose was the helping hand? the shoulders broad 

Two muskets bore? a double load. 
To the foeman's arm would strike him down. 
Who then didst interpose his own? 
And when came death — last scene of all. 

The flag so loved his funeral pall, 
Silently, reverently the corse they bore, 
(Oft shrouded in haste for the far-off shore) 

With loving hands didst turn the sod, 

Nor yet ashamed of tears were shed. 
No surpliced priest, or choir, to there intone 
Some service grand ; nor sculptured stone 
To mark the spot whereon he fought, and fell. 
His comrades whispered, "We loved him well." 

Mayhap, a farewell shot was heard, 
Or bugle's note, or song of woodland bird 

Piping his song to the Prince of Peace ; 
25 



Comrat>esbip. 



Telling, perchance, of a soul's release. 
Such was the burial. Was then their duty done — 

His comrades? Or, was it but begun? 

Through the years the answer comes, 
From widowed hearts, and orphaned homes ; 
From cherished memories, e'en now aflame 

When heard some well beloved name. 
The duty done? 'Tis duty, not alone to grieve 
For comrades gone before ; but, so to live. 
That, in honoring them, the world may recognize 

As well their worth ; their noble sacrifice. 

Though it were meet, they need no stone 

Whereon to tell of deeds were done ; 
Whoe'er so died, well didst perform their part, 
Their epitaph, graved deep, lives in a Nation's heart! 

L'ENVOI. 

Comrades, the meridian of our lives is past ; 
The flood has turned, the ebb-tide running fast. 
Who, among all gathered here 
Shall pledge his presence, next year? 
And yet, it is not ours to mourn, 
We who (humbly we say it) have borne, 
On land or sea, as best we could, some part 
In scenes have made our country great ; 
Have lived, to see each star restored 
To our loved flag ; at home, abroad, 
In the far-off islands of the sea 
To see it gleam — emblem of liberty ; 
A sign to Man — whate'er his race, or clime. 
Of freedom guardant ; of peace, the oriflamme. 

26 



Xove's ]6ntreats. 

(From the Prose of Grace Aguilar.) 

Through the vast realms of formless space 

Sounds the Omnific Word, 
And darkness, chaos, rent in twain, 

Reveal' d the work of God. 
He spake. Around the new-born globe 

Angelic hosts do throng ; 
The golden harps proclaim His praise 

In one triumphant song. 
Hierarch and Seraph — radiant winged — 

As bursts the glorious sight, 
Behold the world from Heaven upheld 

By chains of diamond light, 
While from within the inmost veil 

Where none might dare to tread, 
Is heard again th' Eternal Word — 

" 'Tis Good!" of Him who made. 
"Let us make Man!" Again He spake 

And lo the courts throughout 
Celestial myriads in song their joy 

And adoration shout. 
But hush ! Prostrate before the Throne 

Three glorious spirits meet : 
Justice — suppliant — Peace and Truth 

Bent low, a boon entreat. 
"Create him not! lyife shadowed o'er 

By foul deceit shall be ! " 
27 



Xope's jentreat^. 



So speaketh Truth — whose crystal spear 

Bids trembling falsehood flee — 
While Justice — cast in sterner mold, 

With hauberk, helm and sword — 
"Create him not ! wouldst arrogate 

The Vengeance of his lyord!" 
And Peace — whose meek expressive orbs 

Are dimmed in prescient thought — 
Beheld his name outcast of Earth 

"Father, create him not?" 
Thus spake "The Favoured Three" and then 

A solemn stillness reigned ; 
Th' effulgent piercing thro' the veil 

Is paled, nor glory deigned, 
While wond'ring Hierarchs, listening, 

Await the answering Word 
Decrees the world unknown of Man, 

Or Man his Maker; God. 
And hope seem'd dead ; when from afar 

A star resplendent grew 
Till in "The Presence" lyove appeared 

And kindled hope anew. 
"All hail! All hail!" from every rank. 

In confidence, and joy ; 
The love-lit eyes keep pace with song, 

Nor need a word employ. 
Spirit of Ivove I Thou best beloved 

Of all th' angelic host! 
Thou guardian essence of the whole. 

Speak thou ! or Man is lost I 
He nears the veil, and bending low 
28 



%oxfc*s Entreati?. 



The soft, sweet tone is beard 
Through regions of unmeasured space — 

"Create him, Father! I^ord! 
To love and be beloved create. 

What matter if he err? 
Thy love is greater than his sin ! 

Thy pardon, greater far!" 
Burst thro' the veil th' assenting sign, 

The thousand ranks of Heaven, 
While myriad voices rend the air 

As Man to Earth is given, 
And Truth and Justice, Peace doth join 

To swell the thrilling strain — 
Let Man be made! God reigns o'er all! 

Amen! Amen! Amen! 

Baltimore, Nor. 25, 1894. 



29 



^be Silent Utm^. 

(Dedicated to Comrades who fell iu battle, or perished 
in the line of duty.) 

Along the Avenue of Fame — builded to honor them- 
So pure, ornate, and yet, so simple in its majesty 

That, instinctively, one could but feel 
For such a setting, rare must the jewel be ; 
While yet the sun was high o'erhead, 
Glinting with its rays the burnished steel ; 
Erewhile the thousands lined the way 
Whose every voice rang out a welcoming, 

I saw them pass ; a glorious pageantry. 

Music was playing ; banners were flying, 
And yet, beside fkezr faces, seared and seamed ; 
Beside some old and tattered battle flag. 

All else seemed naught. 
Some too, were scarred ; and maimed. 
Not all — however hardly did they try. 
Could march erect ; and some an empty sleeve 

Did'st wear; aye, proudly wore. 
Nor needed else, to guerdon their bravery. 

Shoulder to shoulder they marched ; 

Elbow to elbow — as of old, 
Those ''Boys in Blue," hearts of gold. 
While cheer after cheer — echoing wide. 
Told of a peoples love : and pride. 

30 



Ube Silent arm^. 



Ah, who, to see them, would not cheer? 

Remembering all ; and hold them dear? 
And cheers were theirs — the living, 'til, 
The rear guard passed, all then was still. 

^ * ^ * * * * 
Returning thence — at midnight hour. 

And musing there, methinks I dreamed. 
Peopling the court of honor, with silent tread 

I saw them move — the Unforgotten Dead. 
I saw, unheralded, hero comrades march, • 
And turn, and wheel, with elbow touch 

As keen and conscious — to the spirit eye — 

As in those days, along another way. 
They side by side pressed on, to victory : 
And in whose breast the sword of Death — 
Their duty done, found ever-ready sheath. 

Ghosts? Aye, spectres they: 
Some in rags, with tattered flags 
Cherished, and followed, in many a fray. 

With muffled drum, see how they come ! 
Armed cap-a-pie, with musket, and saber, 
"Ghosts of the Red-hand from over the border." 

Deathless heroes. Do ye seek a name? 
Mayhap 'tis 'scribed on the roll of fame. 
Or mayhap, they sleep beneath some stone 
Whereon is graved — a holy legend, "Unknown." 
lyost in the maze of the war — blasted track, 
Some are "The Boys who did not come back." 

See ! how they go charging ; 
To the trumpet's shrill sounding, 
31 



XTbe Silent Hrmp. 



The deep-mouthed guns pounding ; 

Up, Up! now, away! 

Now, shattered, and broken, spreading dismay. 

Musketry flashing ; sabers slashing. 
Wielded by loyal hands, hearts ever true ; 

Hark! now, the shot and shell ; 

Wide opes the gates of hell — 

The hell of war's passion : 
Seething and surging, writhing and turning 
Until, at last, the "Old Flag" triumphant! 
Forgotten the cost, then, in siich glorious vision. 

Spectres from Spectreland. Shadowy phantoms 
Booted, and spurred, and riding apace ; 

Carbines unslinging, bugle blasts ringing ; 

Musketeers ; cannoniers ; give them a place. 
The prison pen opens. Thousands on thousands, 
Hollow-eyed, famine crazed. God! what a sight. 
Were they from among us — these tatterdemalions? 
Can these be our boys, went forth in their might? 

Soldiers ? Heroes ? These in rags ? 

Glorified rags ! and hallowed flags. 
Spectres from Deadland, ghosts of the red-hand, 
Ghosts of the red-hand from over the border. 

Who would not honor them? 

Who would not cheer for them ? 

Who dares now to gibe at them? 
Passing away in the shades of the night. 



32 



pa&D^ Ibines' Breecbes. 

Note : A fire occurred one day in 1876, in the camp of a 
company of the Eighteenth U. S. Infantry, stationed at Colum- 
bia, S. C. Private Mines' blanket and a pair of his trousers 
were burned up, and a Board of Survey, finding the fire was an 
accident, ordered that the loss should be made good to him — a 
free issue. The post commander approved the finding of the 
Board, and Pat received the articles. The department com- 
mander disapproved, and then began a lengthy controversy, only 
ended by an Act of Congress relieving the Q. M. General from 
the charge upon his department. " Sunset " Cox, in offering 
the Bill in the House, made one of his characteristic humorous 
speeches. The proceedings all through is said to have cost the 
Government about $1 ,000. 

On an unlucky day in the year 'seventy-six, 
Privet Hines found himself in an iligant fix ; 
Minus blanket an' breeches by the fiery iliment. 
"By th' pow'rs," says Paddy, ''I'll charge thim to 
guv'mint." 
A boord of sarvay (at someone's suggestion) 
Convaned on the scene ov poor Pat's disolation ; 
Accordin' to order, they assimbled and ponder'd, 
Veni, vidi an' vici, they kem, saw, an' conquer' d. 
They questioned bowld Hines, an' this one an' that, 
Overhauled rigulations for their final fiat ; 
Their vardict — like most ov thim found now-a-days, 
"Accidintal," ov coorse— where nobody pays. 

A blanket an' breeches for Paddy was order'd, 
Nor stopped they to think ov Uncle Sam bother 'd ; 
In dollars an' cints they fix'd up the totals, 
Sint in their repoort, an' retired on their laurels. 
33 



IpabDp Ibines' Breecbes. 



They wor done now wid Paddy, but alas for the 

breeches, 
Sittin' Bull an' his thribe, wid their war 'hoops an' 

scraches 
Niver caused such a fuss ; an' the trouble they gave 
Whin they sed, "By yer lave 
We'll giv Paddy Hines a blanket an' breeches, 
To be charged not at all, but issued free gratis," 
Ne'er entered their heads ; if it had I am towld 
They'd have left Privet Hines jist out in the cowld. 
lyike many a fight, it had onlj' begun, 
Whin thought to be finished an' victhory won. 
From office to office, from pillar to post. 
The mighty small dockimint grew to a host. 
From Captin' to Gin'ral, from him to leftinent, 
Back an' forwards it flew until Paddy's garmint — 
Ivike Brian O'lyinn's, became cilibrated : 
So oft on the ear ov offichils it grated. 

How much paper it tuk, whether fools cap or legal, 
I roightly dun'no, but 'tis sed that the total. 
In dollars alone, was a thousan' one hundre,' 
To straiten this very small bit ov a blunder : 
The postage included ovcoorse, an' expinse inci- 

dintal, 
To solve such a problim. it could not be mintal. 
From the Q. M. in gin'ral to the War Secretary, 
The subject it proved to be moighty conthrary ; 
For a year an' a half they wor badgered an' bothered, 
'Til finally (appalin' to Congress) 'twas ordered. 
That the gift to one Hines be approved an' abated 
On the books ov his country ; at prices as stated. 

34 



lf^a^^l5 Ibtnes' Breecbes. 



So the great controvarsy was finilly ended, 

An' the right ov Pat's title — rale or pretinded — 

Was settled at last ; an' the great systemizers 

Won glory an' honor in ' 'The Affair of the Trousers.'' 



35 



Bon Sibi, Set) Ipatcia. 

"Who live in history, walk the earth again." — Longfe;i<i,ow. 

"We count it death to falter, not to die." 
With pen aflame, long years agone, 
So didst thou tell of Marathon, 
Simonides, of lyeuctra and Thermopylae, 

Where Sparta's heroes lie. 
Nor fitter words could e'er be said 
O Comrades, of thy most honored dead, 

Krewhere entombed ; 
Who, faltering not, .strove not in vain 
The stars misguided hand had torn 
From out the Nation's diadem ; 
Who fought, and fighting, fell, 
And then — their duty nobly done, 
Didst lay them down to rest. 
Content — their sacrifice was blessed — 

Of earth to win no other crown. 

Comrade whose race is run. 

Who gav'st thy life, but fame immortal won ; 

Thou who for self no honors sought, 

But for thy country bravely wrought, 

For duty's and for conscience' sake alone ; 

Who, living, nor thought possessed but for thy fellows' 

meed. 
Dead, be it ours to cherish and to guard 
Remembrance of the life so spent, 

36 



IRon Sibi, SeD patria. 



And crown its ending with a fit reward. 

Buckled thine armor bright, 
Thy shield, of Faith! thy sword, the Right! 
Of courage dauntless, valor's Might ; 

So went thou forth, full panoplied, 
To grave thy name on History's page. 
And, so dying, left a heritage 
More pure and fair bequeathed thee, 
(Redeemed the curse of slavery) 
The compact sealing with thy blood. 
This land for liberty! and God. 

And peace doth reign. 
Throughout the land is heard no more 

Of War's dread din, 
The cannon's deadly roar. 
Alarm of drum, or trumpet blast. 
To call to arms embattled host ; 
While over all, and by thy grace 
O God — vouchsafed that peace, 
Yon flag doth wave more lustrous still, 
("Old Glory," loved so well) 
Kach star more bright, each fold more dear 
As time recedes, to you my comrades, 

As year by year 
With feebler step and slow, ye come, 
To homage those have gone before. 

All honor thine O dead, 
Who findeth sepulture beneath the sod 
Made sacred by thy blood. 

Reverently we bow, and low, 
37 



IFlon Sibi, SeC> patrta. 



upon each grave do humbly lay, 
(Nor nobler couldst bestow) 

A victor's crown. 
The choicest flowers of spring, 
Rich treasure of the earth we bring, 

The laurel and the bay ; 
Bedewed with tears and fashioned fair 

Of woman's loving hand. 
Upon each mound from year to year 

We lay the offering down, 
With heart uplift in prayer. 
In prayer to Thee, O God, who didst ordain 
Their sacrifice was not in vain 

Are so inurned ; 
So mourned, so honored, "so dost lie, 
That kings for such a tomb would wish to die." 

Scatter the flowers. 
L,et tear drops fall, in kindly showers, 

Over each grave ; 
Forgetting not, are those who gave 
Their lives as freely these ye most do seek to honor ; 
For whom 't does seem the sighing breeze 
(To earnest heart and willing ear) 
The burden of a common grief doth bear. 

From fields far distant here. 
For where yon flag doth show 
Some soldier comrade sleeps below ; 
Where'er his grave, on this. Memorial Day, 
Some hand, some heart, of thine a prototype, 

Doth loving tribute pay. 
38 



mon Sibt, Se& jpatria. 



And others too, we mourn. 
Within the glade, adown the glen 
Where clashed the steel of armed men ; 
On mountain top, in oceans deep 
They lie, whom loved ones weep, 

The dead unknown. 
Unknown! Ah yes, but hallowed e'er 

Those nameless graves, 
And to some hearts, most dear. 
No graven stone O dead, is thine, 

Nor legend bronze, to tell 
Of how ye fought, or where ye fell : 
And — save perchance of night birds' song, 

The swell of ocean on the shore — 
No requiem do ye hear. 
Nor garland flower, or sorrow's tear, 
Doth strew thy tomb. 
Yet art thou not forgot ; 
For these, thy comrades all, do mourn ; 

For thee hath wrought 
Bright chaplets of immortal green 
Within each heart (albeit of men unseen) 

And — incensed they of love — 
On angel wings are borne above 

To crown each patriot brow. 

The Re-union. 

Adown the years, as one by one 
Some comrade loses step, and halts, 

The ranks are thinner grown. 
The low sad dirge, the muffled drum, 
39 



1Rou Sibi, SeD patria. 



Arms reversed, and nodding sable plume ; 

The flag close furled, the parting knell 

Of musketry — the soldiers' funeral bell — 

All, all dost tell (nor need of words) 

He answers there ! God's muster roll. 

Each day doth mark the passing 

'Cross "the ford," the column quickly massing. 

Over yon ; 
Are you ready, Comrades? Steady! 
All have answered, say ye? 
Forward then — Guide right ! ! 
Oh how glorious the sight, 
The re-uniting, round the throne. 
And I hear again the singing 
Of the grand old anthem, ringing : — 

Sung. 

"In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across 

the sea. 
With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and 

me ; 
As He died to make men holy, so we died to make men 

free 
And God is marching on." 

Chorus. — Glory, glory, hallelujah, &c. 



40 



ManteD, a /iDan. 

"Wanted, a man." 
To and fro, to and fro it swung, 
Over the heads of the passing throng. 

Hour after hour, day after day, 
At morn, at noon, in the evening's gray ; 
Gently now ; now, swirling around 
As 'twould snap the cord that held it bound 

Tossed by the wind, it rose, and fell, 

Yet ever turning — its tale to tell — 
"Wanted, a man." 

A simple need ; yet, w^ho will dare 
The summons answer — suspended there, 
When — above the earth's broad span — 
The sign appears — "God wants a man," 

Answer, and say, "I^ord, I am he, 
The man Thou seekest ; take me, take me.' 

'Twas an idle fancy mayhap, had told — 
In a field of white and letters of gold — 

A master's need; 
Nor yet 07ie word of race ^ or creed. 

And some came ; yet it swung there still, 
Ever repeating its "Come, who will;" 

Swinging, twirling, to and fro. 
In the summers' sun, the winters' snow, 
41 



Wanted, H man. 



Till the once white field, dark, and dunj 
And the letters of gold, one by one, 

Shrank as it were from the careless glance 

Of the passers by, the look askance, 
Until at last — o'er the open door. 

Of "Wanted, a man," no message it bore. 

And then one day there came a man, 
Weary and footsore, gaunt, and wan ; 

Hungry, thirsty, and seeking in vain 
The needful pittance of earthly gain ; 
But the door was shut, the promise gone. 
And the human tide — as he wandered on, 

Gave little heed ; 
Of many men, he was only — a man. 

God wants a man. Dost hear His call — 
The Master Workman of us all? 

In the sky above, the earth beneath. 

The sighing wind, the lily's breath ; 

Over the waters, whose ebb and flow 

lyike a giant pulse, doth come, and go ; 

At morn, at eve, dost hear it still? 

"Come unto Me, all ye who will!" 

God's workmen all, will you not come 

To gather in at the Harvest Home? 
The field is white, the laborers few, 
The promise golden, for me, for you : 
Hour after hour, day after day — 
Will you obey? 

42 



Mante&, H /IDan. 



He calls. Thro' the portal, open wide, 
Will you not enter, to there abide? 
To work, to labor, to win the prize — 
The crown of life beyond the skies? 
* * * * 

The sign still swings o'er the Vineyard gate, 
Bidding us "Come," ere it be too late. 

Come! ere the letters grow dim, and wan, 
I^et us enter in ; God wants a man. 



43 



CbanceUorsville, 

©r : flag of tbe ©ID ^blr& Corps. 

At Chancellorsville, way back in '63, 
Where the Blue was led by Hooker 

And the Gray fought well with I^ee ; 
Where "Fighting Joe" first won the day — then lost; 

As "Stonewall" swept thro' Howard's line 
lyike an avenging host ; 

Where meet it was that hearts as true 
As the steel with which they strive 

Should rally round that flag they swore 
Would float while still they live ! 

Opposing there the Stars and Bars 
(As oft opposed before) 
One flag there was that steadfast shone, 

Flag of the Old Third Corps. 

Of all who for the Union wrought 

None were more tried and true 
Than the boys who wore the Diamond — ' 

The red, the white, and blue. 
His boys they were at Williamsburg, 

And down the bloody path 
From Yorktown to the river James, 

"Old Joe" had proved their worth. 
He needs them now ; to stay the wind 

The whirlwind must oppose ! 
"The Old Third to the front!" he cried, 

44 



CbancellorsvUle* 



And every man uprose. 
Sickles and Birney, Berry there, 

And Dimmick — gallant heart — 
Who fight for principle — not men, '^ 

And nobly do their part. 

On came their Southron foes, 

With Stonewall in the van, 
And pressing close on Howard's men 

On — to the Rapidan. 
Flushed with the pride of victory. 

With the old familiar yell 
As of twice ten thousand demons loosed 

From out the gates of Hell ; 
On and on, still on they pressed 

While yet before them fled 
The men "who would with Siegel fight 

But not where Howard led ;" 
On and on, thro' brake and wood 

With e'er increasing roar, 
Until they reach the old plank road 

Where stands the Diamond Corps. 

Once, twice and thrice they charge 

Adown the road that day ; 
E'en to the mouths of Dimmick's guns, ^ 

The bravest of the Gray. 
Over heaps of dead and dying 

On with a mighty shout — 
Cries Dimmick "Double-shot with canister!" 

And then — his life went out. 
45 



Cbancellorsville. 



And with him too, alas, went Berry, * 

As valiant hearted man 
As ever wore the Diamond, 

Nor yet had died in vain ; 
For while he lingered yet awhile 

This side the other shore 
He knew that all was safe — and said 

"God bless you, Old Third Corps." 

L'ENVOI. 

"Over the river 'Stonewall' passed ^ 

Under the shade to rest," 
And he who fought above the clouds ® 

Is numbered with the blest. 
Across the river and over the ford 

All of us soon will be, 
Of the Blue who fought with Hooker, 

And the Gray who wrought with Lee. 
Thank God ! that over the Rapidan 

The flowers in peace now grow 
Over the graves of brothers slain. 

And know not friend from foe. 
God be thanked, that from gulf to lake, 

And stretched from shore to shore, 
The flag of the Union floats o'er all, 

Flag of the Old Third Corps. 



1. The Third Corps Badge. 2. As the Eleventh Corps broke 
and ran, the men openly said they would fight with Siegel but 
not with Howard. 3. Lieut. Dimmick commanding the famous 
Plank-road battery. 4. General Berry of the Third Corps. 
5. Stonewall Jackson's dying remark. 6. Hooker at Lookout 
Mountain. 

46 



/iDp Sweetbeart. 

Note: Originally published under the caption of "Baby." 

Two big, brown eyes, laughing and bright, 
Shining like stars in cloudless night ; 
Roguish eyes, that strives to tell 
Of wondrous thoughts in each cavern cell ; 
Eyes which ever seem to say 
"I will talk to you — some day." 

Two little ears — pinklined shells, 
Guard the retreat where memory dwells ; 
Sentinels, that catch and keep 
Each little word, hidden deep ; 
And monitors, bidding us beware 
lyest aught impure find shelter there. 

Two little lips coo, soft and low. 
Sweet notes from out their Cupid's bow ; 
lyips whose kisses are sweeter far 
Than comfits rare from Flora's bower ; 
Yet, lips that tremble, if aught distress 
Baby's heart, in its tenderness. 

Two little hands, upturned wide. 
Baby's greeting, at eventide. 
Ivittle hands so dimpled, and warm. 
And fingers clasped at the least alarm 
Lest he should lose his chosen place 
Next Papa's heart ; in fond embrace. 
47 



{fX^'S Sweetbeart 



Two little feet, and tiny toes 
That peep — sometimes, thro' baby's hose, 
Little feet, that kick "so high," 
Trying so hard to reach the sky. 
Kicks, and coos, and crows with glee ; — 
Two boys at play ; my baby, and me. 

Sweetheart, I would thine eyes shall see 
Naught of life save its purity ; 
Would thine ears may never hear 
Aught would defile thy character ; 
Would thy lips may ne'er express 
Aught save in loving gentleness ; 
Would thy hands the almoner be 
Of heartfelt, Christlike charity ; 
And at the last, I would thy feet 
Shall tread, with Him, the golden street. 



48 



Brme^ in Conscience, 

®r: Mete's to a Oallant ffoe. 

Written for, and read by Judge George Savage at the 
annual banquet of the Society of the Army and Navy of the 
Confederate States in the State of Maryland, held at the Carroll- 
ton Hotel, January 18, 1902. 

"Johnny Reb," here's to you! 
Peace, health and happiness I pledge, 
From an old-time "Yank," a "Boy in Blue" 
Who, harking back, doth seem to hear 
Even now, as then, the hearty cheer 

And answering "rebel yell" — 
(No wonder Sherman, after hearing it, 

Should say that "war is hell!") 
As strove they each for mastery. 
Northern grit, and Southern chivalry. 
The war is over. Who crosses blades — 

An' they be manly men, 
No need of words have they, to fight 

Their battles o'er again ; 
Nor is't the time or place I ween 
For me to say, what might have been. 
The pledge I give — born of the battle glow, 

Is this ; "Here's to a gallant foe!" 
*Marshall, at the tomb of Grant, 

Surnamed him "Magnanimous;" 
Nor need have I to be less generous 
T'ward thy loved chieftain — the noble lyce, 
49 



Hrme5 in Conscience. 



Who as a man, a soldier true, 

Was peer of any, "Gray," or "Blue. 

He who fights can ne'er dishonored be, 

Armed in conscience, and such was Lee. 

So say I, "Johnny Reb," here's to you! 
Peace, health and happiness. 

From an old-time "Boy in Blue." 



* Colonel Charles Marshall, Military Secretary of General 
Robert E- Ivee. 



50 



Ubc IRo^al Blue, 

Note: Written on the occasion of the " Royal Blue" trip 
from Washington to Jersey City, October 11th, 1890, made in 
four hours and sixteen minutes, actual running time. 

Bumper to thee, O Royal Blue! 
Thy regal flight the country through ! 
Out from the shadow of yonder dome — 
Pride of a Nation mightier than Rome ; 
Far from Potomac's storied stream, 
Flying through space as in a dream, 
Such speed as thine hath ne'er been seen 
Since from hoof of Pegasus sprung Hippocrene. 
On thro' Prince George's sweetest vales, 
Through Howard's and Arundel's greenest dales, 
On we speed, to where Patapsco tribute pays 
To Chesapeake, broad spread before our gaze. 
Through Harford and across the stream 
Where Susquehannocks' fires were wont to gleam ; 
High o'er the tree tops and looking down 
On fair Deposit, and Ararat — her granite crown ; 
Away, away o'er the Brandywine, 
(While we toast thee, O steed, in juice of vine), 
On to the " City of Sweet Accord " 
Whence rang the tocsin allied pen and sword 
To Freedom's cause, an hundred years agone ; 
Over the Schuylkill and 'cross the plain 
Once red with blood of Hessian slain ; 
Across the meadow and over the ford, 
(Cleaving the air like some giant bird) 
51 



TLbc 1Ro)?al Blue. 



Swifter, and yet far swifter still — 

As harnessed ligtning to man's proud will ; 

On, still on with yet increasing rush and roar 

Until at last we greet old Hudson's shore. 

And the sun of noon beams a benison 

As the goal is reached, the victory won. 



52 



Bnttetam, 

Note : Maryland has erected upon the battlefield of An- 
tietam a monument commemorating alike the valor of her sons, 
who fell upon either side during the engagement. 

A silvery stream, and, spanning o'er 

(A narrow way) a lowly arch of stone. 
Deep in shade the mountain side appears; 

Below, are fields of tasseled corn. 

Sheep upon the up-lands graze, 
Kine browse along the bottom, or, 

Deep within the stream, contented stand. 

Close by the bridge is seen a church — 

An edifice of modest mien — 
And, now and again, a sweet-voiced bell 

Is heard. And all is peace. 

^ >); ^ * 

Peopled now are vale and hill 

With threatening murmurs. 
The northern slope a moving mass reveals 

(Of darker hue than foliage there)* 
And, upon the crest opposing. 
Another mass ; a leaden cloud which^ 

Breaks anon o'er all the plain. 
A flash of light ; and, quick following, 
A deafening roar awakes the mountain top ; 

Reverberating then, and rolling on 
In awe inspiring waves. 
Flash upon flash ; peal upon peal 

Goes echoing down the vale. 
53 



Hntietam. 



Nearer the opposing clouds approach 

(Darkened now the stream between)'' 
Until, in one grand, awful sound — 
As hell itself were oped, and yawning — 

The climax reached, all is still again, 
Save that, in muffled, saddened tones, 
The bell is heard ; tolling a knell, 

5|i * * * 

And yet again ; as in a dream. 
The sun, high in the heavens, sheds 
Its benignant rays on vale and stream. 
No cloud obscures the sky, the waters 

lycap and play, in joyful mood. 
The ripened grain — waiting the sickle — 

Welcomes the passing zephyr. 
And, bending low, doth seeming bless 
Its mother earth, for full, and plenty. 

The song-bird whistles to its mate, 

Wild-flowers lend a presence there, 
Ladening the air with sweet perfume. 

Anon (still in my dream I see) 
High in the heavens behold a cloud ! 
The while I gaze, another quick appearing. 

Nor threatening flash is there. 

Or direful thunder tone. 

Heralding such on-coming. 
From the far North, from sunny South 
They come (the stream flows still between) 
Until, blended in one, behold a shape! 
And, giving it a name, I whisper — Peace. 

Upon her head she wears a crown — 
54 



Hntietam. 



(Of five and forty stars) 
Which fills the earth with radiance. 
Poised in her hand a wreath, of olive, 
Bay, and laurel sweet entwined. 

Pine and Palmetto ; golden rod. 
Saw I then (and until then unseen) 
A stone — it seeming spanned the stream, 
And on it writ, graved by the hand of History, 
" Honor to them who did as honor bade." 

Upon this spot did Peace descend. 
Upon the stone placed she the wreath, 
And thence departed, while, not one alone, 

But many bells I seemed to hear. 
Telling of joyful tidings. 

?j< ^ ^ >jC 

Blessed be thy name O Antietam, 

And thou O Maryland, blessed be. 
Who since Calvert here did first proclaim 

To conscience liberty ! 
Hath e'er maintained an honored name. 
Thou giv'st them place — these shafts of stone — 

But such as these are not alone 
Thy monuments ; — 
" Womanly words, and manly deeds " 
Thy 'scutcheon bears ; stones are but reeds! 

And, since deeds alone endure, 

So shall thy action treasured be, 
Transmitted still from sire to son. 
To children's children given, 
Living still — in unrecorded history, 

When stones to dust return. 



1. The Federal "Blue." 2. The Confederate "Gray.' 
With Blood. 

55 



Cbrist, tbe pattern. 

Amid a busy throng ; 
Within the sound of myriad wheels 
Whose every turn bespoke my waking thought, 

I dreamed a dream. 
Besure, I saw the shuttle's bent, 
'Clack-clack, clack-clack," did'st hear 
The noisy passing to and fro ; 
But, of the pattern which it wrought, 
The thousand threads so deftly wove, 
The blending colors, the watchful eye and hand 
Did'st guard each threatened danger, 

I had no thought ; save of fancy. 
The workshop became a life — my life ; 
The loom, with all its wondrous power, my will ; 
Each thread some thought, or act. 
From which to choose — and to me was given 
To make or mar the fabric to be wrought — 

The product time would'st surely bring, 
And there, outstretched, the pattern hung. 

The wheels revolved ; the shuttle flew. 

At first, not I alone, did'st guide the thread, 

Nor were the colors all my choosing. 
A little child was I, content, and trusting. 
Another form was bjs and other hand than mine 
('Twas torn and scarred by cruel wounds) 

Was there, and if by chance 

56 



Cbrist, tbe pattern. 



Some thread did' St lag, or threatening, broke, 
'Twas quick restored, and O, how beautiful! 
But soon, I stronger grew, and then I felt. 

Or seemed to feel, the hand withdrawn. 
Not far howe'er ; I yet the presence knew. 
Was conscious — should tangled web or woof 

Or colors false beset the course — 
I need but ask, that hand to place in mine. 
And then came pride, (O how false) 

And halting, doubt, and fear. 
The wheels still turned, the shuttle still did fly. 

Forward, and back, forward, and back, 
And with each stroke — relentless — 
The pattern grew ; alas, I knew not how. 

Knew not? Yea, I knew 'twas ill, 
Erewhile I still did weave ; 
Knew, that 'mongst the blending colors 
Some there were of such a sombre hue. 

So stained and so begrim, 
Beside the pattern set they were as night 
To the glory of a noonday sun. 
And that was good ; for, as I thought 
Behold! there came a ray, a flash 
Of light across my darkened sky ; 
Revealed once more the outstretched hand, 
The form once seen, and known. 
And (in my dream) a voice I heard ; — 
'Yet is there time ; so ye believe 
And trust Me still, thy work shall shine 
Even as a lily on the water's brim!" 
57 



Cbrist, tbe pattern. 



And waking, methought I saw — 

Hanging o'er and lighting all the earth — 

A glorious rainbow, and within, a cross. 
* * * * 

Yet art Thou the pattern, O Christ ; 

Yet is not Thy hand withdrawn ; 
The fabric of each life can'st woven be 

lyike unto Thine own. 
We may not seek perfectness, 
That attribute is Thine alone ; 
But, with Thy hand upon life's loom, 

We, as little children^ guided ever, 
Tho' threads may warp, they will not break! 

And in Thy time, and by Thy grace. 
The pattern wove — imperfect though it be, 

May find some place with Thee. 
Some little, humble place, and where 

It may be, angels only tread ; 
The fabric wrought, not fit Thy foot, 

O Master Weaver ! much less Thy throne ; 
But where Thine eye — the pitying eye 
From Calvary looked down — 
May sometime dwell, to claim its own. 



58 



xrbc iSt>cn of tbe Heart. 

Where did the Garden of Eden lie? 
With Adam's fall was it swept away 

Forever thence a mystery? 
Thro' the garden, did the Tigris flow 

Ever onward, then as now ; 
Or, as some believe, was the Euphrates 
The river which flowed amid its trees. 

And with its song, all day long, 
The music vied of the perfumed breeze? 
What matters it? Have we not each within 

The Voice of God? The power to sin? 
Shall the higher law — infinite truth — 

Ever bend to the Serpent's breath ; 
Impulse, not goodness, sway the will, 
And base desire bid conscience e'er be still? 
Forbid it, Lord! Loving, and Kind; 
Merciful, that we Thy grace may find ; 
Pitiful, that Thou in turn shalt pity show, 
We each within a garden may possess 

Akin to Eden's loveliness ; 
Wherein the flowers, budding, shall grow 
In rich abundance ; their incense sweet impart 
From out the garden of the heart ; 
And in his hand — who bids them bloom — 
Shall woven be ; a Heavenly crown. 



59 



passino of tbe IReoiment. 

Baltimore— 1861-1898. 

Written of the march of the Sixth Massachusetts through 
Baltimore, on their way South, during the Spanish- American 
war. 

Ominous sounds ! The multitude, 
With excited gesture and fiery tongue, 
Impassioned thought and speech, unreasoned, 

Hurried toward a common center. 
And some went armed ; and, with no 
Deep imagine, mingled with the clang 

Of steel was heard the duller sound 

Of iron gyves, fetters which had 
Clasped ere then the human form, 
And burned deep into the souls of men 
Moulded in the image of a common Maker. 

Fierce and fiercer grew the fire, 
Fanned by the breath of prejudice 
And hate born of the years, of 
Intemperate words, imagined wrong 
And pride of section, until, o'erleaping 

Reason's bounds, naught else dost 

Satisfy to quench its thirst, insatiate, 
Save brothers' blood. 

Auspicious sounds ! The multitude — 
A giant gathering, impatient waits. 
Strong men are there, and women whose 

Gay attire bespeaks a festal throng. 
60 



passing of tbe IReaiment, 



Waiting, they speak of other days, 
When, as it were, some loved one 

Gone forth from out their midst, 
Was now, anon, about to come again, 
To welcomed be with all which doth 

Belong to pride of home and fireside. 
A mighty shout! "My Maryland" and "Dixie. 
How strange, yet how more than sweet, 

From Northern pipes those notes ! 
And when the strains of "Yankee Doodle" 
Therein do mingle, telling of how, 
Long, long ago, men of Massachusetts 
And of Maryland battled for freedom. 

Estranged were, and now again united. 
What wonder if tears now grime 
A manly cheek and voices husky grow. 

Through crowded streets they march, 
And as they wheel their feet on roses tread. 
No thought of fetters now, except it may be 

Bright eyes entangle with a glance 
Some soldier lad, who straightway 
Thinks himself at home again. 

And oh, the sentiment! There marches, 

And with no lesser welcome they, 
Men of a race within whose veins 
Flows blood of darkened hue, heirs 

Erewhile of Slavery's curse, but now, 
Thank God, heritant of common weal. 
Clad in a common garb, armed with 

A common purpose — the righting 
Of a People's wrong. 

61 



Cbristmas, IS6U 

In the early part of the late war passion was so aroused on 
either side that it was quite a common occurrence for the out- 
lying pickets to shoot each other on sight. It was no better 
than assassination, and later grew to be so recognized. So 
much, in fact, did soldierly sentiment in this respect change 
that very often, later in the war, the pickets of the respective 
armies could be seen fraternizing together, more like friends 
than foes. 

And yonder lies the Christmas morn. 
The weary sentinel, pacing to and fro 
His lonely beat, halts ever and anon 
To catch whate'er might lie beyond 
The range of vision. For the ear. 
By long accustom well attuned. 
Doth to the eye assistance lend, 
Detecting oft approaching danger. 
The moon, pale, and now and again 
Obscured by passing clouds, serves but 
As a treacherous friend. 
Shedding but a feeble ray at best. 
And, when necessity the loudest calls. 
Deepening the shadows with still darker gloom ; 
Or (and still the simile observe) if perchance 
The eye or ear doth lurking danger dread. 
Then is it that a stray moonbeam 
Most surely glints the shining steel — 
As nothing loth a presence to betray, 
And lure him on to foul destruction. 
So the hour passes, and still he paces, 
62 



Cbristmas, 186l» 



Silently marking the intervening time 
Beyond which he may lay him down 
To dream of home and loved ones. 
To dream, perchance, of the loved wife 
Who bade him — when drums beat to arms 
And bugles rang a clarion— go forth 
To fight for her and duty ; of aged mother 
Or darling boy— a tender stripling— 
Who, with somewhat of like feeling. 
E'en now dost buckle on a tiny sword 
And bids defiance to maternal warning. 
These are far away, to measure distance 
As the crow flies, yet ever present. 
In his heart he folds them close ; 
In his mind's vision he sees their tender glance, 
And hears the cherished voices 
Echoing and re-echoing his words of love. 
Soon he thinks, he will be with them. 
In the body, as now in spirit. 
This cruel, more than fratricidal war. 
Arraying father 'gainst son. 
Son 'gainst father, brother 'gainst brother. 
Surely, He whose birthday is the morrow 
Will not long permit so foul a wrong ! 
And so it is his heart more lightsome grows, 
His step more light, yet firm. 
And his thought, thus heaven directed. 
Augurs well the approaching morn. 
"Mother, wife, my boy," he murmers, 
"They, I know, have prayed for me this night ; 
Why should not I for them (humbly suppliant) 
Ask of Him a blessing and protection? 
Father, bless all— I love — " 

63 



Cbristmas, 1861. 



A shot ! and all again is still. 
They found him thus, they who came 
To his relief — alas! too late. 
When for him, his lonely vigil ended, 
No trump, save that of Gabriel, 
Would e'er again sound in his ear ; 
Nor drum, nor shrieking fife, albeit 
Most pleasant music to a soldier, call. 
Never again for him the battle roar 
To wake a noble nature to ignoble passion. 
Or rage to war with kin. 
Nay, rising rather on wings of peace. 
Doth not his spirit, with outstretched arms, 
Hasten to meet yon heavenly throng ; 
To cry aloud with them, (God speed the day!) 
'Peace on earth ; good will to men." 



64 



2)0 H %ovc Ubcct 

Doth it need then, love be spoken? 

Speech is silver, silence golden ; 
Of love the essence. 
And dost thou need the weak endeavor 
Of mine tongue, to so discover 
I^ove's presence? 

Nay : love needs not speech. 
From the eyes, whose drooping lids 
Modesty dost hide ; from cheeks where, blushing, 

Tell-tale roses dwell ; 
From the lip, whose tender quiver 
Speaks for the tongue — whose vain endeavor 

It knows so well ; 
A pressure of the hand, so soft 
'Tis scarcely felt, and yet, how oft 

The tale has told. 
Thy instinct, love, doth tell thee, 
However slight the pressure be, 

The heart's not cold. 
Doth it need then, love be spoken? 
Ah, no ; by many, many a token 

Can love be known. 
Heart linked to heart, by chain so golden, 
No word dost need ; the silence broken 

By those hearts alone. 
In their beating gently meeting, 
Kach responsive ; each in fleeting, 

Caught the echo, flings it back again. 
Wherefore then, should love be told? 
Ivook in mine eyes! as I thy form enfold, 

And tell me, words are vain. 
65 



%\\{C sire, Xifte %on. 

Note : Among those who fell before Santiago was a young 
officer — the son of a former gallant Confederate — who was slain 
while cheering his followers on to victory. His sword was one 
bequeathed him by his father. 

The line had wavered, was all but lost 

The vantage gained, at frightful cost, 
When, springing to the front, a Southern youth, 

With flashing eye, and heated breath 
Cried, "Do you falter, men of the North ! 

Or you, proud scions of the West? 
Behold this blade! so prized, so richly blest ; — 
'Four years, my father told me, e'er he died, 

Four years I gave, with honor strove 
Beneath the Stars and Bars — the flag I loved. 

To you, my boy, this sword I give, 
Commanding you, while life survive, 

To let no stain attach to such bequest ; ' — 
Who this blade will follow? to yonder crest!" 
Outrang the swords. From West and Northmen then 

Rang out the cry ' 'Lead on ! I^ead on ! " 
And halting not, altho' a leaden rain 
Laid many low — alas, that he was of the slain — 
High on the crest they planted, firm and fast, 

"Old Glory!" Men of the North, and West. 
Reverently they bore him — their loved dead, 
With saddened heart, and not ashamed of tears were 
shed. 

With muffled drum-beat, arms reverse 
66 



Xifte Sire, Xifte Son. 



Nor silken shroud, or plumed hearse ; 

His eulogy, a loving comrade's word ; 
Beneath the sod which yet did'st weep 

Tears of blood, they laid him down, to sleep. 
His hand still clasped the well-loved blade, 
Agape the wound whence life had sped, 

Yet on his lip was seen a smile, 
As if, when death drew nigh erewhile. 
Some voice had'st whispered in his ear 

"Sleep, my boy, for I am near;" 
And he — replying as he died — 

Father ! art thou then satisfied ? ' ' 



67 



Bops, Me Salute l^ou ! 

(Tune: Marching Thro' Georgia.) 

"You've had your day" so we are told, 

Who dearly love to tell 
Of Gettysburg and Shiloh, 

Who know that "war is hell;" 
But Dewey set the pace, my boy, 

Joe Wheeler wasn't slow, 
Chap'roning 'Teddy' at Kl Caney. 

Chorus. 

"Hurrah!" we sang, "we bring the jubilee, 
Hurrah! hurrah! the flag that sets you free:"- 
Hark! the echo 'cross the sea 
(Though not in mother tongue) 
Welcome! thrice welcome ! "Old Glory." 

Sang of "John Brown's body" then 
"Lies mould'ring in the grave ;" 

From the grave his spirit rose, 

'Marched on' to free the slave ; 

And Santiago's trenches proved 
They were not freed in vain: 
*The 'color-line' there was, "Old Glory." 

Hobson's new, and Schley is (?) old, 

But not too old to lead : 
'Chips from off the block' we're told; 
68 



Bo^s, me Salute 13ou! 



'The grain tells' — from the seed ; 
And if our sons do well, why we 

Are prouder far than they ; 
My boy! the 'old man' salutes you. 

Hail! the flag. My boy, each stripe. 
Each star — was born of Heaven ; 

The sacred trust our fathers gave, 
To you, unsullied given ; 

Your valor proved, we rest content, 
Well spent we count our lives ; — 

My boy! the 'old man' salutes you. 

Tho' steeped in blood each crimson stripe, 
Each star the sword out -wrought, 

Has ever yet in honor stood 

The flag — with blessings fraught ; 

With val'rous hearts shall ever stand 
So long as freemen live : — 

My boy! the 'old man' salutes you. 

For right, not might, nor conq'rors lust 
Or greed thy course to mar ; 

Draw not thy sword save honor's mood 
Shall spur thee on, to war ; 

And 'neatheach shelf ring fold let naught 
But justice e'er abide ! 

My boy! the 'old man' salutes you. 

So shall a nation blessed be 

Whose people all are free ; 
Each freeman sov' reign — one in all — 
69 



Bo^s, Me Salute l^ou! 



To guard its destiny ; 
A blessing spread throughout the world, 

Enlightening man for man : — 
My boy! the 'old man' salutes you. 

TO THE COMRADES. 

Beards are growing whitened, boys, 

Adown the passing years ; 
Miss'dthe clasp of many a hand, 

The smiles oft turn to tears ; 
We'll greet them there! the "Boys in Blue," 

Outstretched each Comrade's hand : — 
Comrades! 'till then, we salute you. 



*The Ninth Infantry (colored) saved the " Rough Riders' 
from probable defeat. 



70 



XTbe Xab^ anO tbe Xil^, 

There, at her feet, the lily lies ; 

Behind the bars, hungry, expectant, 
Crouches the lion ; watching with greedy eyes. 

Above — unseen of all save her alone 

Who sees through eyes of faith, 
A glittering diadem — the martyr's crown. 

The thronged arena, open to the sky. 

For one brief space is strangely still 
As all of Rome looks on, to see her die; 

Or, the lily chosen, with wild acclaim 
Bid her to live ! so she shall Christ deny. 

'Tis hers to choose ; such is the law. 
Choosing life (and the world) only to stoop has she; 

With one quick bending of the knee 
From off the sands to pluck the flower, 
And bid to cease — for her — the lion's roar. 

So young, so fair, so full of hope, 

So loving, and beloved, ere then : — 
O cruel hour, O fleeting time wherein 
To choose. And, close beside, the lion's den. 
Stainless the robe she wears : as pure 
Has been her life. Shall fear of death allure? 

A moment only : yet doth it sufiice. 

She chooses, Christ! With saintly tread 
(The lily, as she walks, unconscious crushed) 

She passes on, and steady on, until 
Facing Caesar, she stands. The multitude is hushed. 

71 



Ubc Xabp anC) tbe Xilg, 



No word is said ; no thumb is turned. 

True to nature, the lion rends his prey ; 

Thou, O Caesar, mad in thine impotence, 
Wouldst conquer souls! Thou, a god of clay, 
And only for an hour ; then, hence ! 

Gone is the arena ; Caesar, too, gone. 

Both live in history, in sculptured stone ; 
But, when stones shall crumble, and decay, 
Then shall Christ still live ! around His throne 

Shall gather those who the arena trod. 

Who owned Him lyord ; art blest of God. 



72 



Ube jflaa ot /iDontere^. 

Note : Lines attributed to John T. Gray on receiving — 
after the death of Major General John R. Kenly — the flag of the 
Baltimore Battalion carried in the war with Mexico, and planted 
in victory on the rampart of Fort Teneria, Monterey, Septem- 
ber, 1846. 

Dear old flag, I greet thee. 
Thy tattered folds, each stripe, each star 
Do memories recall are dearer far 

All else beside — to me. 
More eloquent than human tongue, 
And sweeter far than e'er the Dryad sung, 

Thou speak 'st to me of bygone years, 
Of glorious hopes and trembling fears, 
And life, and death, and pitying tears. 

Of camp and march, of duties done, 

Of val'rous deeds, and battles won ; 
The living — crowned with victor's wreath ; 
The dead — who blessed thee with their dying breath ; 
Of war, and peace, the dear old home. 
Thus do memories, thronging, come. 
As here I stand, with bowed head, 
And touch, with reverent hand, each thread 

Made sacred by their blood 
Who sleep beneath a foreign sod. 

It matters not art rent, and torn ; 

Thou art to me O flag, as when, upborne 

By Hart ; by Kenly led— 
Chivalric Watson numbered with the dead — 
On El Teneria 's frowning height 

73 



TCbe iFlag of /iDontece^. 



Thy stars appeared — a shining light — 
To mark a course well run. 

E'en now as then, thro' smoke and fire 

I see thee mounting, higher, higher! 

Mid'st hurtling shot, the shriek of shell, 
lyost now to view as brave Hart fell ; 
Up now again, by I^ennox borne 
High o'er the flowering cane and corn ; 

Upward and onward, forward still, 

Encompassed round with bristling steel ; 
On, and On ! Teneria's flame 
lyighting the path with ruddy gleam ; 

Onward and upward ! Ever on ! 

Until at last — the rampart won — 

Thousands of voices rend the air 

To see thee proudly waving there. 

Flag of Watson ; Brave Bronaugh ; 

Of Stewart : Boyd : to Piper dear ; 

Tho' rent thy stripes, and torn thy stars. 

Well hast thou borne thee ; and in thy scars art fairer 

still 
(To one hast loved thee long and well) 
Than when — unbaptised thou of patriot blood — 
On Astec plain thou bid'st thy followers on 
'Gainst proud Ampudia's host ; and Torrejon. 

Then wert thou beautiful indeed 
As some fair maid, of whom her lover's creed 

Admits is none more fair ; 
And yet, encrimsoned by the blood of those who fell 

Before Teneria's seething hell. 
Thy stripes took on a richer hue. 
Thy stars, engloried, brighter grew, 

74 



Ube jflag ot /iDonterei?, 



As burst the cloud of smoke and flame 
Of Victory!! thou did'st proclaim. 
Nor oriflamme of France, 
Opposed the tide of Austrian lance, 
More proudly waved — that day — 
Than thou O flag, o'er Monterey. 
On Obispada's walls so gray, 
The sun still casts a lingering ray. 
Reflected still in San Juan's flow, 
The stars of Heaven doth softly glow. 
Still from above, from Ind'pendencia's height 
There comes an answering gleam of light. 
Anon the moon, o'er vale and stream 
Its radiance sheds ; like some fair dream. 
Still high o'er all — a giant ward — 
Sierra Madre keeps eternal guard. 
While cactus' blooms and flowering vine 
(lyike incense from some holy shrine) 
Their fragrance shed ; nor seems to know 
The grave of friend from that of foe. 
'Tis holy ground ; for there doth sleep 
Those we did love, for whom we weep ; 
Who gavest all O flag, for thee, 
Emblem of I/iberty ! 
Nor faltered not, but followed on 
To win for thee the victor's crown ; 
For thee O flag, did'st win a glory wreath, 
For self, an honored name ; and death. 
Dear old flag, I love thee well ; 
Ever shall love thee, until Death's knell 
Shall call me hence ; 
Living, I hail thee dearer far than all. 
And dead, be thou my funeral pall. 

75 



XiviitQ for Cbrist 

O'er altar' d niche the jeweled cross 
Reflected back a thousand rays of light ; 

Impassioned music filled the air, 
And blending with its softer chords, 
I heard the voice of garbed priest 
Bidding the multitude to prayer. 
Higher and higher rose the strain. 

Thro' vaulted dome uprose the song 
Which told of Him— the Crucified— 
While to and fro the censer swung. 

Anon, the priest — whose sacred robe 
Nor richer gem'd than stored his mind ; 
Whose pitying word was yet a probe 
To every wound he fain would bind — 

Told of the Saviour, His life, and death, 
His cruel death by Pilate's foul decree. 

Until — of heartfelt agony — I cried, 
'Would, O Lord, I could have died for Thee!" 

^ ^ ^ ^ * ;); ;K 

The service o'er, I lingered still 

Beside the hallowed shrine, 
Thinking of Christ ; to do His will. 
I cried, "What, O L^ord, would have me do ; 

What service, acceptable, to bring. 
That I — ^who's death availeth naught — 
Numbered may be among Thy following." 

And as I looked upon the cross, 
76 



%ivinQ tot Cbrtst. 



The pierced hand with nails were riven, 
A low, sweet voice methought I heard — 
Some angel voice, a-fresh from Heaven. 
It seemed, the very lips did move ; 
The eyes, a loving glance bestowed ; 

The crown of thorns a halo shone 
Filling all space : — O'ercome, to earth I bowed. 
'My son, (the tone was sweeter far 
Than heard beside my mother's knee) 
Since not by thy death can'st thou 
The Kingdom gain, live! live thou for me." 



77 



Zo UX^v first Xove, 

(A Song.) 

Softly over vale and stream 
Fall the shadows — like a dream : 
And lingering, catch each gleam, 

Departing day ; 
Stars are twinkling forth their light — 
Telling of the coming night — 
As when we our love did plight, 

Witnessing they. 

Now, far from thy side I roam. 
Far from childhood's happy home. 
Yet will the mem'ries e'er come 

At close of day ; 
Still art thou dear as when 
O'er the hillside, through the glen, 
Oft strayed we together then. 

Blithesome, and gay. 

What though years may come, and go? 

I/ike the ocean's ebb and flow 

Heart of mine no change shall know ; 

The same for aye ; 
Still true to thee — though distant far- 
Praying, trusting, hoping e'er 
That for thee no cloud shall mar 

Returning day. 
78 



Zhc jfourtb ot 3ulp. 

Welcome to Pen-Mar! 

Whose rocky mounts and sylvan shades, 

Anon resounding to the alarm of war, 
Look out to-day upon yon vale — 
Where sculptured stone doth tell of martial deeds *- 

So smiling fair in peace and plenty. 
Here — upon their border land — 

Two sister States, each proud 
In its own strength and might ; 
Proud in the achievements of her sons 

On land and sea, in war and peace 
(Yet prouder still to own a common name) 

Are met to celebrate a Nation's birth. 
A son of Penn, are you? 
Or you, a son of Calvert? 
Are ye not brothers all ! Americans ! 
And if perchance from yonder dome 
The Bell of Independence did first proclaim 

All men are free and equal, 
Did not its echoes. 
From lake to gulf, and back again, 
Fill all the air with equal, gladsome strain? 
Was it at Lexington, or Bunker Hill, 

On Camden's bloody field. 
At Yorktown or the Valley Forge 

That freedom was attained? 
Who gave the priceless boon? 

79 



Zbc ifourtb of 3uls» 



From farthest North to sunny South, 

From Western hills to Eastern slope 
The answer comes — Americans ! 
Forgetful for a time, two flags there were 

And each did find its followers. 

And brothers fought, and fell. 
And women mourned. 

Brave men were they, and honorable, 
And while they fought the world in pity gazed 
At strife so fratricidal. 
As it must ever be, one conquered, 
But straight a helping hand the victor gave 

To raise and cheer his fallen brother. 
Thank God, they still were one — Americans! 
And God be thanked, that with no star undimmed 
The flag of Washington more lustrous grows, 

From year to year new honor gains. 
Thank God, that 'neath its folds 

A nation hap'ly dwells, and shall 
By His blest Providence, forevermore. 

♦Gettysburg. July 4, 1891. 



80 



Soun& tbe H&x)ance, 

"Sound the retreat ! ' ' 
So spake the King. From far afield 
He sees the stubborn foe refuse to yield, 
And glittering crests — his pride and boast — 
Halt and wavering before the rival host. 
"Sire?" The herald youth, his eye aflame, 
Mantling his brow the flush of shame ; 
Who knows no fear — save of his sov' reign lord. 
Daring to question look, or word : — 
"Sire, they never taught me that ; for France 
This only did I learn — Advance ! ' ' 
Outrang the blast ; so wild, and shrill, 
The battling ranks, in wonderment, grew still ; 
Then — the rallying cry "the King! the King!" 
While fiercer yet the echoes ring — 
A thousand eagles blaze the way 
For France, and victory. 

' 'Sound the Advance ! ' ' 
O daughter of the King; O son of Him 
Whose heralds are seraphs and cherubim ; 
If on the battle-field of life 
Thou art faltering in the strife ; 
If doubts possess and fears assail. 
And thine own courage doth thee naught avail ; 
Hark then the trumpet call — 'twill surely sound — 
"In His Name!" the watchword, the world around 

81 



Soun& tbe H^vance. 



And if thou see'st thy brother fears defeat 
Give thou the rallying cry — "never retreat!" 
O follower of the King, the combat's here ; 
Overcoming, thy crown of triumph — there ! 
If thou with Him of victory wouldst know, 
Take on His armor, 'twill conquer ev'ry foe ; 
The cross thy shield, faith then thy lance, 
Soldier of Christ ! sound the advance. 



82 



Ube ©It) Canteen, 

(Tune: The Old Oaken Bucket.) 

How dear to our hearts are the days of "Auld Lang 
Syne," 
Way back in the 'Sixties, when we were " The 
Boys;" 
Gay, light -hearted "Boys," on the march, round the 
camp-fire, 
Dividing our sorrows, and sharing our joys. 
And now, once again, when the camp-fire is lighted, 
We turn back the years that have rolled in between , 
Recalling the days we marched elbow to elbow, 

And drink once again from the same old canteen. 

Chorus : The old army canteen, 
The rusty old canteen, 
The cloth-covered canteen, 
Now hangs on the wall. 

We love the old scenes, ev'ry ditch by the roadside, 
The hard-tack, the rail-fire our coffee did'st boil: 
And even the "skippers," we do not forget them — 

The "skippers" we frizzled — to sweeten the broil. 
The chickens and turkeys, lamb-fries and plum pud- 
dings, 
We gave them the go-by (as often as seen.) 
We dined like a lord, on our bacon and bean-soup, 
And a draught, sweet and pure, from the army 
canteen. — Cho. 
83 



XTbe ©It) Canteen. 



How cheerful (?) we always turned out in the morning, 
At guard-mount and drill we were always on 
hand. 
We polished our shoes, we brightened our buttons, 
And the way we "policed," why it just "beat the 
band!" 
We loved (?) all the Gen'rals, the Colonels and Cap'ns, 
"Old Saw-Bones" — God bless 'em, who gave us 
quinine : 
When our rations fell short, the cook got a cussing, 
But always a blessing, the old army canteen. 
Cho. 

The musket, now rusty, the grimy old saber, 

The knapsack and canteen is hung on the wall ; 
They're useless, they tell us, who know not their story, 

The story lies deep in our hearts, one and all. 
The story, we tell it, nor can we forget it. 

When gathered, as now, round the camp-fire's 
bright sheen ; 
While we drink to the health of our comrades, and 
brothers, 
A toast — sweet and loving, "The Army Can- 
teen." — Cho. 

lyike leaves of the forest our comrades are falling. 

The half-masted flag often tells the sad tale. 
As "taps" sweetly echoes, the notes e'er resounding 
O'er mountain and hill-top, thro' murmuring 
vale. 
And soon the last one — some dearly loved comrade. 

Will pass on beyond — to where lies the ' ' Unseen , ' ' 
Who e'er he may be, round our camp-fire assembled. 
We pledge the last drop in our loved old can- 
teen, — Cho. 

84 



Uhc Battle of %iU. 

Yonder lies the grave ; 'tween life, and death, 
Time, and eternity, man's feeble breath. 

The battle of life! What of the combat, 
And who the victor, when man doth yield. 
As yield he must — to Death, the field? 

Who is the conqueror? Nor length of days, 
Nor worldly fame, or riches, e'er betrays, 
For these are naught ; and can it be 

A moldy grave so shrines a victory? 
What Cometh then ? what gone before 
O impotent ! so quick bereft of seeming power. 

Doth so believe? O wretched life 
Were quenched at last in such ignoble strife. 
God tells us life is not a fleeting breath ; 

Man lives, and living, conquers Death. 

There is a conflict. Is there a middle road 
Which one may choose — 'tween self, and God? 

Evil and good between, the false and true. 
Must not the line be drawn — for me? for you? 
God made the darkness, and the light ; 

Is aught between the day, and night? 
A middle road ! Who sought to tread 
In such a way — 'tween man, and God ; 
Judged not (albeit a ruler) yet still agreed 
In place of justice, mockery! for law, a creed! 

So Pilate stood. Cans't thou, 
85 



TLbc Battle ot %xtc. 



Or would' St thou pluck from off His brow 
The crown of thorns for thee He wore — 

If so thou couldst — this very hour? 
Thou cans't not. And yet to thee 
Some part is given in that great tragedy. 

'Tis thine to grieve, 'tis thine to joy ; 
To grieve, with Him, o'er man's employ 
Of God's best gifts for self alone, 
And joy, believing, " Thou, Jesus, cans't atone." 

God's word is not a wish, a hope ; 
'Tis truth, and life, nor need we grope 

In darkness. As good doth evil shun, 
Seek ye lyight! the battle's all but won. 
Wouldst thou a teacher? Art young, or old, 
Or wise or foolish, yet cans't thou be told 
Whereof 'tis good to know ; a lesson to bestow 

Mayhap, on those less learned than thou, 
And who perchance, doth look to thee 
As one most wise ; and, should it be, 

Should it be t/io7i hast mistaken been : — 
Wouldst thou a teacher? Take Him ! 
He alone who hath the battle fought. 

And conquering, set death at naught. 
Then, and not till then, thoul't see 
"Death hath no sting, the grave no victory." 



86 



©ur ifallen (Iomra&es. 

(Response to Toast.) 

The years have come, and gone. 
So, too, our comrades, one by one. 

Fall by the wayside, 
Their earthly journey run. 
The ranks grow thinner, here. 
As, ever and anon, over some new made grave. 

We shed a manly tear. 
Dushane, Wilson, Howard, AUard there, 
Graham and Bride — the other shore ; 

Burns, Rigby, Watkins, Adreon, 

Tyler and Wallace, Denison, 
(Methinks I hear their voices ring again) 
Prentice, Dodge, Kenly ! — noble soul ; 

So swells Death's muster roll. 
One by one, and year by year, 
"Old Glory" shrouding the bier ; 
With arms reversed ; the muffled drum ; 

So are they borne unto their rest 
To sleep till angel trumpet blast 

Shall call them — Home. 

Our comrades. 
Who will give them meed of praise? 
Is it yon stone we seek to raise? 
'Twill tell perchance where once they stood, 

Stemming the tide of battle flood ; 
Aye ; mark perchance upon yon field 
87 



©ur jfallen (Iomra&e6. 



Where they might die, but never yield. 
And yet, all this were vain ; apart ; 
To portraiture the patriot heart. 

For marble bold, nor blazoned gold, 

Historic pen, in prose or rhyme 

Could justice mete to such a theme. 
The chiseled stone, tho' sculptured fair, 
Is cold; and of the life, the hopes lie buried there. 

Can at the best but tell 
That on some day he fought, and fell, 

Who sleeps beneath, 
Tho' crowned mayhap, with victor's wreath. 
Each shaft, its finger reared against the sky. 
Dost tell how brave men dared to die ; 

And so, their story's told. 
Comrades, tho' fitting 'tis that monuments of stone 
Should'st tell of deeds of valor done, 

Yet do stones crumble, lines decay. 

Of earth, earthy, fade soon away. 
Born of the blood of patriot sires. 
Graved by Him who e'er inspires 

Man's noblest deeds ; 
Thy most enduring tablature shall be 
Thy sons! to whom thou teachest Loyalty, 
Fraternity of heart and Charity of soul, 

And who in turn, while ages roll. 
To sons of sons transmit the holy fire 
Served thy arm to nerve ; thy heart inspire. 

Thus will thy patriotism find fit reward, 

In countless freemen — praise be God, 

Shall ever bless thy name. 
88 



XTbe Bana*e& Cob, 

©r : ipcgasus "GlnwingcD. 
In a mining camp her dad slung gin, 
While her mother she took washing in ; 
They dished, and slung, and washed and wrung, 
While Mary Jane banged her hair and sung 
"I'm tired of camp, the Heathen Chinee, 
Heigho, for a man to marry me, 
Of the airystockracee." 

She banged and she sung until one day 
Her lover "struck tin" and then away 
Flew Mary Jane, her bangs and all. 
And sot herself down near old Pall Mall ; 
With a silver mine for her pass-key 
They welcomed her into societee. 
The Hinglish 'stockracee. 

She drank champagne and London fizz. 

And all the time with an eye to 'bis. 

Her weather eye was on gay Paree, 

Says Mary Jane "There's no flies on me ;" 
With her silver stock and banged hair 
She set the pace for Vanity Fair, 

For the dude a 'stockracee. 

With dukes, and lords, and ladies gay, 
She dined all night and slept all day ; 
In Rotten Row did bow, and smile. 
Drove a four-in-hand, and set the style 

By banging her horses, tail and mane — 
To match her hair, did Mary Jane, 
Of the shoddy 'stockracee. 

89 



Xlbe Bang=e& Cob* 



They joined the train of the "Silver Queen," 
The dudes, and snobs, and the horse marine ; 
They sawed and clipped, some short, some long. 
Till horsehair cushions sold for a song ; 

Till on parade one could only see 

From Kensington to Piccadillee 
A dock-tail cavallerie. 

The price of "clips" went up with a jerk. 
And the "My turn next" cost many a perk; 
The poor old nags might groan in pain, 
The horse-doctor swore by Mary Jane ; 
Clipped, and sawed in fiendish glee. 
Smothered his conscience with a fee ; 
The "blawsted" veterinaree. 

And that is the way the "Hinglish" cob. 
Became the fashion with every snob ; 
The Old Nick was in it, don't you see. 
And sooner or later he'll get all three — 
The doctor, dude, and shoddy Marie, 
And the re-tailed nag will neigh with glee, 
As they waltz down to Hade." 



90 



Ube Man^erer's IReturn. 

(Founded on "Under Two Flags.") 

Across old Neptune's wide domain 

The good ship wends her way; 
While anxious hearts and straining eyes, in vain 

Have throbbed and watched this many a day. 
Storm after storm, storm after storm — 

lyike some dread demon who no mercy hath, 
Her shattered spars and battered form 

Full witness give, have met her on her path. 

Still, in spite of renten sail and shattered mast, 

The stout old hulk hath bravely sped ; 
Each day to port still nearer than the last, 

And hopes revive, t'were all but dead. 
The staunch old tars, whom superstition e'er enfold, 

Again their quaint old songs doth sing ; 
E'en grumbling Jonah (whom all ships hold) 

Gives way at last, and makes the welkin ring. 

And nearer still, and yet more near. 

Ha! what is that? Yes; it is the land. 
"Land ho ! " from masthead ; and a joyous cheer 

From passengers and crew, and hand clasps hand. 
Aye, all are glad save one alone, 

'Midst storm or sunshine, still the same ; 
Unaltered brow, or eye, or tone ; 

No home, no friends, no hopes, no name? 
91 



trbe TKIlan^erer's IReturn. 



The question put, "A passenger," he said. 

"From whence?" "From everywhere," reply 
When others wept, no tear he shed ; 

All else had praj'^ed whilst he stood calmly by. 
Didst question him, he gazed, no more ; 

Nor answered he ; save bow of head ; 
'Twas gravely done, and so they soon forebore 

Their questioning, and from his presence fled. 

And then, as storm succeeded storm, 

They looked on him with superstitious dread ; 
The anxious mother to her trembling form 

Pressed closer still her darling's precious head. 
And some there were who e'en averred 

That t'was the Kvil one himself on board ; 
Or yet the "Flying Dutchman," 

Whose minds with tales of him were stored. 

A grave, stern man, whose countenance 

Bespoke the dweller in an Eastern clime ; 
An eye, whose piercing glance 

Spake not of joys, nor yet of crime. 
His hair, now slightly tinged with gray. 

Told of raven blackness in time of yore ; 
Upon his stalwart form in shining folds it lay. 

Seemingly proud of the ownership it bore. 

So, day by day, until at last. 

That first, glad shout foretold of home; 
Of kindred, friends, who in the past 

They left behind, in other lands to roam. 
Forgotten now, the tempest blast. 

Which well had played its part ; 
Brightest of all sunshine reigned at last — 

The sunshine of the heart. 

92 



XTbe manDerer's IReturn. 



Forgotten now, by all around him there, 

With firm, unwearied step, the deck he trod ; 
No cry of welcome to greet him, where 

The past lies buried, as under the sod. 
Forgotten. The word, by chance was spoke, 

Falls on his ear like death knell tone ; 
He starts, as thus on the air it broke, 

And echoed it softly, with low, sad moan. 

"And can it be, there are others, too, 

Forgotten, like I, midst the busy throng ; 
Mayhap, like I, a victim through 

Another's false and guilty tongue? 
Shall honor still forbid the speech 

Would clear of guilt a tarnished name? 
Or yet, still stand i' the deadly breach 

And die, as I've lived, forever the same?" 

I heard no more, yet caught the gleam 

Of a struggling soul for peace and right ; 
The eye grew moist, and a tender beam 

Shone in the stead of its wonted light. 
As I saw him mix with the common herd, 

A noble still, whate'er his lot, 
My heart was .strangely, deeply stirred. 

And I kept repeating, "Forgot, forgot." 

I hear him still, in the silent night ; 

With no one near, I see his form ; 
Still witness the struggle 'tween might and right. 

And honor still triumphs, through calm and storm. 
Go on, proud heart ; thy time shall come ; 

God still lives, though justice flies ; 
Through trials borne the victory's won ; 

The body may perish, the soul ne'er dies. 

93 



Ube Xurap Caves. 

Note: Shenandoah, in the Indian tongue, signifies the 
Daughter of Stars. 

Out from Hillen, while the ascending sun 
Marks but a space of his journey run ; 
Over the mountains, and winding down, 
Speeds our iron steed into Hagerstown. 
Through the valley— "The Daughter of Stars"— 
Where was wont to gleam the Stars and Bars ; 
Over the river and through the dell 
Where brave men fought, and heroes fell ; 
Without thought mayhap, of that terrible fray 
When Sheridan rode to save the day, 
Our peaceful party entered Luray. 

Ay ; peaceful now, that vale of tears. 

As changed the sword for the reapers' shears ; 

The upturned sod conceals no foe, 

But from every hillock the harvest glow. 

All around and about, a nation at rest ; 

Peace, plenty, happiness ; a home of the blest. 

This what we saw on that bright June day 

When, over the mountains, far away. 

Our peaceful party entered I^uray. 
In passing, we gazed on scenes that mark 
A nation's history ; glorious, lustrous, sad, and dark ; 
Of which the pen, in rhyme and prose 
Curdles the blood, or warms it, as it flows ; 
Of savage days, when the white man's tread 
Echoed not oft through wood or glade ; 
Days when. Colonial rights denied, 

94 



Ube Xurai? Caves. 



Uprose a nation, in strength and pride. 
Of this we thought, on that bright June day 
When, over the mountains, far away, 
Our peaceful party entered lyuray. 

Climbing the ridge, and looking down, 

Fair Cumberland vale; hamlet, and town. 

Antietam there, a city of the dead. 

And Pack Horse Ford, where I^ee *once fled. 

Where Susquehannocks and Catawbas, thrice fifty 
years ago 

Flashed tomahawk and scalping knife — a bloody 
foe. 

Where Ramsay, on fair Potomac's stream 

First showed the world a vessel drawn by steam. 

Of this we thought, that bright June day 

When, over the mountains, far away. 

Our peaceful party entered lyuray. 
Where Gates and I,ee once lived and toiled ; 
Where Stephens, honored, honor soiled ; 
The Harewood House, where Madison did wed ; 
Where Brown, of Ossawatomie, unhap'ly died ; 
The Greenway Court of Fairfax' days. 
And memorable, as "Washington's surveys;" 
Morgan's "Saratoga," (of 'prisoned Hessian build. 
Of which 'tis said, 'they builded better than they 

killed'); 
Of this we thought, that bright June day 
When, over the mountains, far away, 
Our peaceful party entered L/uray. 



95 



Ube Xurai? Caves. 



It is not proposed, in prose or rhyme, 

To tell of the Caves ; I've not the time. 

Between you and me (don't speak of it pray) 

Of adjectives I lack, to clothe Luray. 

Of its wonderful caverns, no pen can trace 

The intricate lines ; their beauty, and grace. 

The brush of the artist cannot portray 

A heavenly scene with earthly clay. 

But we saw of its beauty that bright June day 

When, over the mountains, far away. 

Our peaceful party entered lyuray. 



*"Ivight Horse Harry" Lee, of the Revolution. 



96 



Hfuor te Salutat. 

(Acrostic.) 

Krato, hither bring thy lyre, and thou 
Mnemosyne, do thou attune each string. 
Incline thine ear ! On whom she honor would bestow, 

l/ove to their nuptials bids thee bring 
Your sweetest, most melodious song. 

Orpheus, of thy lyre hast need. Eurydice — 
Such faithful lovers to approve — 

Can for a time dispense thy ecstasy ; — 
Away! and sing (the mortal strains above) 

"Rejoice! Rejoice! Love crowns the choice." 

XTO TB — U — U. 

( Acrostic. ) 

All love, all honor crown thee! 
Nor radiant gem, or jewel rare. 
Nor costly robe or flowers fair — 

Endureth for a space ; 
The diadem thy brow doth grace — 
Thy womanhood — doth so outshine 
Ephemeral fancies, all else were pygmean. 

Uo a Bri&e an& Groom. 

(Acrostic.) 

An humble offering, a gift I bring. 

Gold give I not, nor silver, curious wrought. 
Nor jewel rare ; simply a wish, a thought. 

Upon this happiest of days — for thee, 
So may it prove, unto eternity. 

Love shall thy pathway strew. 
Ever present happiness, ever absent sorrow. 

So wish I thee today ; tomorrow. 
Each day some new found joy bestowed, until, 

Resting in Him, thou' It find the measure full. 

97 



minfielD Scott Scblc^, 
^be Ibcro of Santiago JSa^. 

Note : Sung by Dr. B, Merrill Hopkinson. at the banquet 
tendered to Admiral Schlev by the State of Maryland, at the 
Hotel Rennert, February 28, 1899. 

(Tune: Maryland, My Maryland.) 

A cup, a cup, a beaker full 

Maryland, My Maryland ; 
A toast, a toast, with right good will, 

Maryland, My Maryland ; 
To Sailor Schley, thy gallant son. 
Who fought, and smote the haughty Don, 
A Nation's heart doth thee enthrone, 

Sailor Schley, of Maryland. 

Assailed the flag — the flag of Key, 

Mayland, My Maryland; 
Resplendent then, his chivalry, 

Maryland, My Marjdand ; 
Who breathed with Key a kindred air ; 
Of Barney learned to do, and dare; 
Nor doubts repel, nor fears deter, 

Sailor Schley, of Maryland. 

Of valiant heart; of modest breath, 

Maryland, My Maryland; 
A hero — earned the victor's wreath, 

Maryland, My Maryland ; 

98 



minfielt) Scott Scblep, 



The battle o'er, behold him them ! 
Quick turns to share the laurels won ; 
'Tis he who cries "Well done, my men !" 
Gallant Schley, of Maryland. 

Then up, fill up ! fill to the brim ! 

Maryland, My Maryland; 
To Sailor Schley! now, with a vim! 

Maryland, My Maryland ; 
A loyal friend — ask Greeley there ! 
A manly man, in peace, or war; 
From truck to keel a gallant tar. 

Sailor Schley of Maryland. 



L.oFC. 

99 



H IRemlniscence. 

A nightingale once — in generous mood, 

To a little brown thrush sat by, 
Poured out her soul in brightest song — 

A wondrous melody ; 
And the little brown thrush, in gratitude 

Bethought to make reply. 
Then drooping his head, sadly said, 

"What matters my song, to thine." 

Sang the nightingale, so sweetly then 

To the little brown thrush, her friend. 
It is not thy notes, or mine I ween. 

May count the most, in the end ; 
It is the heart whence flows the notes 

That makes the song divine, 
And your note, friend, response may find 

Some soul may deny to mine. 

* * * * 

So sang the nightingale; is singing still, 

Making her world more glad ; 
Doth she ever I wonder, think of the thrush 

To whom she sang — of God? 
And bade him, with notes the Maker gave. 

On the hill-top, or in the vale, 
To sing his best ! since 'tis all He asks 

Of the thrush or the nightingale. 
100 



Melcome, tbe ^Baltimore! 

Note: Written on the occasion of the Cruiser's visit to 
Baltimore, May, 1890. 

Welcome O Ship ! our Baltimore ! 

And welcome, Schley, our gallant commodore. 

Welcome thy crew — the manly tars. 

Brave defenders of the Stripes and Stars — 

Thrice welcome all. 
Within the shadow of McHenry's site, 
Where thro' the darkest hours of night 
Floated the ensign loved so well 
By Armistead and Key, and heroes fell 

In its defense ; 
Here in the waters then set free. 
We welcome thee with "three times three," 
And bid thee, for the name you bear, 
And for that flag still waving there, 

Ne'er let one star grow dim. 
From stem to stern thy plates of steel 
And molten ribs a strength reveal 
Well fit to stand before the shock 
Of battled host; or e'en to mock 

Of ocean's fury; 
Yet 'tis within, where dwells the patriot heart 
And where each man performs a manly part 
That chiefest strength must lie; for woe betide 
That ship a craven soul doth hide ; 

That only shows an outward glory. 

101 



Melcome, tbe Baltimore! 



So let it be said of thee, O ship, O crew, 
Here in thy home, with honors thick and new 
Crowding upon thee; that come what may, 
At home, abroad, in peace or fray, 

E'er did'st thou do thy duty. 
So shalt thou an honor prove, 
Where'er thy flag shall wave ; 
So proud shall this people be — 
Watching thy course on every sea — 

Thou bear'st our name. 



102 



®ur Baltimore, 

®r: ©oD SpeeD anD Melcome Momc. 

Note : Sung by Col. J. Frank Supplee on the occasion 
of the formal presentation— through Secretary of the Navy 
Tracey,! of a service of silver to the Cruiser Baltimore, May 
20, 1892. 

(Tune: My Maryland.) 

A pledge to thee, a pledge to thee, 

Baltimore, our Baltimore! 
A bumper full and flowing free, 

Baltimore, our Baltimore! 
Where'er thy keel shall kiss the sea, 
Where floats the flag of Schley and Key, 
Our hearts we pledge, our faith to thee, 

Baltimore, our Baltimore! 

In pledging thee a "loving cup," 

Baltimore, our Baltimore! 
We pledge to thee full measured up, 

Baltimore, our Baltimore! 
A loyalty the graver's art 
Could ne'er portray or pen impart ; 
'Tis shrined within each patriot heart, 

Baltimore, our Baltimore! 

In naming thee, O ship, thy name, 

Baltimore, our Baltimore! 
The glory shall be ours, the fame, 

Baltimore, our Baltimore! 

103 



®ur Baltimore. 



For well we know thy manly tars 
Will e'er defend the Stripes and Stars, 
Till sinks beneath the wave thy spars, 
Baltimorej our Baltimore! 

So, here's to thee, O gallant ship, 

Baltimore, our Baltimore! 
As passed the cup from lip to lip, 

Baltimore, our Baltimore! 
Where'er thy stem shall proudly turn, 
'Mid scenes of peace or war's alarm. 
We pledge, "God speed and welcome home," 

Baltimore, our Baltimore! 



104 



IRacirema to Scble^, 

acrostic. 

Not with the blast of the trumpet, 

And the fan -fare of the drum; 
Couch we instead "Welcome art thou 

In the heart of a Maryland home." 
Rich is the chaplet we offer — flowers 

Erstwhile thy coming wert born; 
Meet for thy coming, (of parting no word) 

And blooming, thro' night unto morn. 

The flowers we offer, are friendship ; 

Of love in its highest aspire ; 
Such love as from brother to brother, 

Cherished, and warmed of desire. 
Home-like the greeting, of home ever telling, 

lyO, thou art here, 'tis not for a day ; 
Enfant d'Republique! we love, we adopt thee, 

You come, you remain; are of us alway. 
Baltimore, June 15, 1899. 

Coc\\ IRobin— /lDo5erni3e&, 

Who won the fight? 
"I," said bold Sampson; I laid the plan, 
Then down the coast ten miles I ran — 
To fool the Dons; I won the fight." 

Who won the fight? 
Said modest Schley, "I saw them run ; 
Then were the ships sunk one by one. 
By the Man behind the gun; He won the fight." 

105 



©ur Mero (Buest 

Note: Written on the occasion of the reception to Cap- 
tain N. M. Dyer, of the Cruiser Baltimore, after the Victory of 
Manilla Bay. 

Hail to our guest — a seaman brave, 

Maryland, My Maryland ; 
Whose shotted guns the message gave, 

Maryland, My Maryland ; 
In thunderous tones, and o'er again — 
While hurtling shell didst fall like rain, 
How well remembered was the Maine 

Off Luzon's Isle, My Maryland. 

A gallant ship, a gallant crew, 

Maryland, My Maryland ; 
Was thine that day, and Captain too, 

Maryland, My Maryland ; 
A Yankee tar (we claim him son) 
Who knows no State, but duty done. 
Thy galaxy of stars O Flag, as one. 

Flag of Key ; of Maryland. 

*%ead thou the van" — the signal came, 
"Baltimore" — Our Baltimore ; 

Her answer sped — a sheet of flame, 
Baltimore, Our Baltimore ; 

And where she led, they followed on. 

The bridge, the deck, in unison, 

True hearts, and brave — American! 
One and all, American. 
106 



®ur Mero Guest, 



A pledge to thee ; O gallant ship, 
Baltimore, Our Baltimore ; 

And here's to thee, our guest "Hip-hip, 
In Baltimore, Our Baltimore ; 

Hast well preserved an honored name, 

New lustre wrought, unto her fame ; 

Now, three times three, with one acclaim, 
Our hero guest ! of Maryland. 



107 



a preMction DerifieD. 

Note : The first of the following verses is from the song 
"Our Baltimore," written in 1892, 

(1892.) 
In naming thee, O ship, thy name, 

Baltimore, our Baltimore! 
The glory shall be ours, the fame 

Baltimore, our Baltimore! 
For well we know thy gallant tars, 
Will e'er defend the Stripes and Stars, 
Till sinks beneath the wave thy spars, 

Baltimore, our Baltimore! 

(1898.) 
The prophecy thou has maintained, 

Baltimore, our Baltimore! 
The honor of thy name sustained, 

Baltimore, our Baltimore ! 
The flag of Key, by Dewey borne. 
Floats proudly still at "early dawn," 
Thou hast avenged the gallant Maine, 

Baltimore, our Baltimore! 



108 



Ube '*/!DuO Battle." 

(With apologies to Tennyson.) 

Note: The Army of the Potomac, after its repulse at 
Fredericksburg, attempted a movement above the town, but a 
most terrific rain ensued, completely stalling the troops, who 
could only move at all by building corduroy roads. The move- 
ment was ever afterwards known as "Burnside's Stick-in-the- 
Mud." The Confederates, observing the situation, made much 
fun over it. 

Mud to the right of them, 

Mud to the left of them, 
Thro' mud in front of them 

They wallowed and floundered. 
Theirs not to reason why, 

Their not to make reply, 
Theirs to obey ; and try ; 

If some one had blundered. 
Theirs was a sorry plight, 

When in the dead of night 
In mud most out of sight — 

A queer sort of cuirass ; 
When, to flank "Johnnie Reb" 

Stuck fast in mud were they ; a web. 
Spun by J. Pluvious. 

Night and day the rain came down, 
Threatening all hands to drown, 

Still did the trees crack ; and groan. 
Miles built they of corduroy — 

All who could an axe employ ; 
Timber enough for the walls of Troy 

Felled they ; that day. 
109 



Zhc **m\xb JSattle/' 



Horses reared, snorted, neighed ; 

Mules kicked, bucked and brayed ; 
Men shouted, swore and prayed 

There by the river ; 
All were of a color then. 

The on-foot or mounted men, 
Not much of "blue" was seen, 

But mud ; mud all over. 
Seing how it was with us 

"Johnnie Reb" grew hilarious, 
While our boys, more furious — 

Kept thus at bay. 
Loth to give up were they, 

None could doubt their bravery ; 
Battled against Fate's decree 

While of hope was a ray. 
Struggled then gallantly. 

If hopelessly, wretchedly. 
Never yet sullenly 

Those brave "Boys in Blue ;" 
Till, all of hope faded, 

Back to camp, tired and jaded. 
By mud alone conquered, 

They sadly withdrew. 

* -Sf ^ ^ 

So endeth a story 

Of war, without glory, 
Some may have thought ; 

And yet, never men battled 
Where guns roared and rattled, 

More gallantly wrought ; 
Than when, in the mire, 

Without food, without fire. 
The "Mud Battle" was fought. 

110 



Hn fl^^U ot 6ra^ eables. 

(Respectfully dedicated to Miss Ruth Cleveland.) 

Under the gables gray, 
The Bluebird pipes his morning lay. 
Under the lattice, guarded close 
By trailing vine and blushing rose ; 

I,ike a sigh among the trees 
So gently swaying in the breeze 
That laughing ventures o'er the bay ; 

Vicing with the music springing 
From the snow crowned breakers 
Tumbling over, over, as in play ; 
Whisp'ring, rippling, murm'ring, cooing, 

Come the notes of tend 'rest wooing — 
"Ruth— Ruth! Ruth— Ruth! Ruth— Ruth!' 

Under the gables gray. 

Night falls. The gables gray 
Look grayer still, as fades the day. 
Hushed is the Bluebird's song, 
Nor bee is seen the flowers among. 

The low of kine, the tinkling bell 
That marks their passing down the dell, 
And deep'ning shadows, one by one, 

Doth tell the day is done ; 
While, though pulsing still against the shore 
The very breakers seem to guard 
The quiet of the evening hour. 

The cricket now doth own thy sway 
"Baby Ruth ;" and chirrups softly 

Under the gables gray. 

June 30, 1893. 

Ill 



(Bo& IReigns. 

In Memoriam — Maltbie Davenport Babcock. 

He was a man. 
A leader of men, his work was wrought 

With but a single thought. 
For him, between the good, and ill, 
'Tween wrong, and right, there ne'er abode. 

Nor could there be, a middle road ; 

His only guide, his Master's will. 
Christ the exemplar, the pattern of his life, 
"In His Name" — his watchword in the strife — 

Would only end with death. 
A death, akin "the swinging of a door 
To pass from room to room," no more, 

Since life is but a breath. 
He counted it — he for whom we grieve, 
lyife was but a span ; a day in which to live 

As if no other day would come. 
His motto, "Do it now!" was never put aside 
To wait again the turning of the tide ; 

Some star in heaven's dome. 
We grieve. 'Tis true, and yet 
Why, so soon, should we forget 

The lesson that he taught, 
Who counted death only a stepping stone 
Into "the life ;" the cross before the crown ; 

Are all his words but naught? 
We who loved him, are we to now rebel 
Against God's will, and murmuring, tell 
112 



(5ot) IReigns. 



His teaching was in vain? 
Or, shall we, like him, beyond the tomb, 
Beyond the present darkness, and the gloom. 

Count not the cost, only the gain? 
As falleth the sparrow, so he fell. 
Are we to question? God doeth all things well ; 

God still doth reign. 



113 



SowiuG tbe See^. 

A handful of corn. Do you think, have you thought 
Of the wonderful Providence the change hath wrought 
From the one little seed planted only last year 
To the gathering in, the full corn in the ear? 
Only one little kernel ; yet it flourished and grew, 
In God's sunshine and rain — to its nature proved true — 
Until, in its time, as the harvest drew near, 
It blossomed and bloomed ; the full corn in the ear. 
With its tassels of gold, the silvery sheen 
That circles it round, its fringes of green, 
How delighted the eye, as the reapers behold 
The wealth of the gath'ring, its treasure untold; 
Forgetting the toil in the pleasure of gain. 
The handful of corn from the one little grain. 
Only one little word. Do you think, have you thought,, 
Of the wonderful harvest a word hath oft wrought? 
Will not you, as His child, be careful to give 
To the least of God's creatures full measure of love ; 
Watering each seed — the fruit of your heart — 
From the wellspring of kindness, and bid it depart 
On its errrand of mercy in the field of earth's strife^ 
To cheer up some fainting one battling for life? 
Will you guard God's "acre" and free it from tares* 
Uproot each foul weed, each sin that ensnares ; 
Of envy and malice, of all that's not true. 
And do unto others as you would they to you ? 
Dear little harvesters, who will reap as you sow, 
Remember, 'tis seed time, not always, but now ; 
Remember, in sowing the grain that's been given 
Shall come the full ear, in the garner of Heaven ; 
That 'twill blossom and bloom, if freed from sin'sthorn. 
From the one little kernel, the handful of corn. 

114 



/iDemortal Dai?, 

"Nor greater love than this" said One, 

"Hath no man, that he his life lay down 
For fellow man." And here they lie — 

Our comrades, this greater love hath shown. 
Ask ye, why strew their graves with flowers? 

Ask, why God, who watches over all things, 
Sends down to earth refreshing showers 

To bid them bud, and bloom again ; 
By their blest presence to fragrance shed 

Through all the earth, and by their lives 
Example give, of loyalty to self, and God. 

I/Ove, and affection to flowers are kin. 

In the sunshine of God's providence 
As flowers their bloom renew, so we — 

Are seedlings of His hand, admonished are 
Of what is due to kind remembrance. 

'Tis not enough to bury here our dead ; 
They are not like some great stone 

Which, from the mountain height o'erhead 
Comes tumbling down, and down 

Until, amidst the thorns and briars 
It lies forgotten, and alone. 

From immemorial time the victor's wreath 

Hath crowned the living hero. 
Are they not victors too, who fought, and died, 

Because forsooth — the battle o'er — 
115 



/IDemorial Dap. 



'Tis theirs to sleep beneath the sod, 

Nor wake to hear the deaf ning roar 
Greeting the living ; they on the other shore? 

Whose was the sacrifice? Whose the gain? 
And shall we then the less loving be 

Than they their lives laid down, for victory? 
From mountain height, across the plain, 

From lake to gulf, the ocean's span ; 
Where'er The Flag they loved doth wave. 

From loyal hearts the answer comes, 
Never while life and memory reign 

Shall they forgotten be. Amen. 



116 



ZoniQbU 

(A Song.) 

I'll sing to thee darling, O darling tonight, 
When the moon 'cross the snow sheds gleamings of 
light ; 

When all seems dark to thy weary heart 
And thine eyes grow dim as the tear drops start ; 

Thy burdens forgot, as my song doth requite, 
I'll sing to thee softly, my darling, tonight. 

I'll play for thee darling, O darling, tonight, 
Sweet mem'ries awaken in dreams of delight ; 

The keys of thy heart shall respond to my call 
As the notes on thine ear shall echoing fall ; 

Thy pleadings my soul hath caught in their flight, 
I'll play for thee darling, my darling, tonight. 

I'll speak to thee darling, O darling, tonight. 
Soft whisp'rings of love on thine ear shall alight. 

That hope at the helm, with faith for thy guide, 
Nor storm to affright thee, nor sorrow betide, 

So may'st thy life's barque ever compass' d aright 
So speak I to thee darling, my darling, tonight. 

I'll pray for thee, darling, O darling, tonight, 
My prayers to ascend to the regions of light ; 

While the stars far above their watches are keeping, 
Grow weary mayhap, of watching and peeping, 

I'll pray that f/iy spirit with mine may unite ; 
Let us pray then together, my darling, tonight. 

117 



IRo UbovowQbtavc, 

(Dedicated to the Corporation.) 

"Most potent, grave and reverend seigniors," 
Ye who run this noble borough, 

That I have climbed to Chimney Rock, 
It is most true ; 

But Sirs, the way I very much did rue. 
And, it doth strike me, there be others too 
Hath broken the command "Thou shalt not swear,' 
Concerning your "No Thoroughfare." 
Sirs, perhaps to you it may seem ill 

That I, a mere sojourner. 
Aught of advice should proffer ; 
Yet, as I /lave climbed the hill, 

(And conscience still doth suffer) 
I say, and deem it not too bold, 
Since even babes and sucklings we are told, 
Some wisdom have acquired ; 
I say, it seems to me ye are ioo tired 
Perhaps, to wear your glory crown ; 
In fact, its light art fain to hide 
By barring up the mountain side. 
Sirs, most humbly would I counsel Thee, 
(In thy cause, O beauteous vale, Monocacy) 
Away with bramble, briar and brake, 
Give us a pathway please, and make 

A journey up the mount a pleasure ; 
So shall thy fellow man, and woman too. 
Of praise give thee full measure, 
And visitors, instead of hieing to confession, 
Will wish for thee — L^ifelong commission, 

118 



Bo^s, eo Slow. 

Note: "We'unsand you 'uns" — the old army term as 
applied to Union and Confederate soldiers. 

Steady, my boy, steady ! 
Th' honor o' ol' Glory's safe, I reck'n, 
An' if yer don't b'lieve me. 
Jus' keep yer eye on the Cap'n.* 

In '61, when men met men. 
He wuz one o' our "Boys," yer know — 
He who's hand is on ther helm ; 
Reck'n he don't fear no "Spanish" row. 

"Honor ol' Glory," yer say. 
Mebbe yer think he don't hold dear 
Th' flag wuz bathed in brothers' blood ; 
Wuz wet with many a woman's tear. 

Son, louder 'n th' shriek o' fife, 
Or roll o' drum, th' clash o' steel 
Or cannon's roar; aye, ev'n o'er th' 

Shout o' vict'ry the Cap'n hears 
Th' orphans' cry, the widders' moan. 
An' — long o' him — we, too, jus' pray 
No idle word may plunge us 

Int' no unrighteous fray. 
I tell yer, boy, 'taint no pag'antry o' war, 
Gay trappin's, music and prancin' steeds, 

Glitt'rin' arms and gal's eyes 
As we look at. We've b'en thar! 

Many a year ago, fur sure, but 
119 



Bo^s, 00 Slow. 



Time don't count with mem'ries 

lyike them! Some things we can't forget. 

Four years we marched, an' fought, 
An' killed — aye, boy, an' killed ! 
L/aid homes desolate, an' waste, all 

Under th' ol' flag you now says 
It's honor is at stake. Well, we know, 
I reck'n, as much 'bout that as you. 

An' so we says, "Boys, go slow!" 
Don't need no chip on our shoulder, 

I take it, to prove our grit ; 
Gettysburg is too close by, an' so's 
Antietam, to say nuthin' o' Shiloh 
An' lots more places, too num'rous 

T' mention ; but I tell you, son, 
Th' widder an' th' orphan aint done 
Cryin' yet! an' as fur graves. 
We got a plenty to keep green ; so. 
We repeats it, boy, jus' you keep an 

Eye on the Cap'n, an go slow. 
If he says so, strike! an' strike hard! 
An' some o' "we 'uns an' you 'uns," I reck'n, 
Will jine ye. That so, ol' pard? 



♦President McKinley. 



120 



B^gar Bllan poe. 

(Dedicated to Sara Sigourney Rice.) 

The man is a profligate sensualist, 
The man's life a reckless debauch, j'ou insist; 
Let the man's life be all that you will, I appeal 
The man's work is immortal — behold it and kneel! 

— Owen Meredith. 

O slumb'ring dead, who living seemed 
For fickle fortune destined special prey ; 
A football, pla5^hing, to please or mock 
As chose her varied fancy ; a favorite of a day ; 
Living, thy friends (O poor humanity) how few 
Were they who didst believe, confide in thee ; 
Dead ; Thine enemy would' st even strive 
To more than slay ; to rob thy memory. 

Thy faults ! Who has them not? 

To thee O charity, I would their keeping give ; 

The grave should hide the mortal man alone, 

Immortal genius, pure, unsullied live. 

O man, dost make thyself a God, 

To judge of souls with thy poor, feeble mind? 

Judge ye thyself alone ; let others rest ; 

lycave souls to Him, the maker of mankind. 

Justice, though late oft times, is never dead ; 
Sleeping mayhap, she yet awakes at last 
And, like a giant roused, refreshed, 
O'er rakes the ashes of the living past. 

121 



B5gar ailan lpoe» 



As in the crucible the gold remains, 
So from justice' eyes flees e'er the dross 
Of calumnies foul tale, leaving naught 
Of its late presence ; or its loss. 

To thee O city of his birth, and death ; 
Who knew him, loved him for that better part, 
Thy tribute (unpretentious though it be) 
Does honor to thy mind, and heart. 
And thou O woman! 'Twas thy fitting task 
To clear from stain his genius evermore 
Who from kind Heaven smiles on thee, 
As stands he by his '%ost I^enore." 



122 



Ubc Sbam Battle. 

At Pimlico, in the mud and rain, 

The boys they "cut and come again," 

While the band played "Maryland, my Maryland." 

Brave Paine was there — as gallant Sam, 

And Gibson, as Strieker, who didn't care a 

Picayune for all the crowd who came that day 
When Cockburn swore so recklessly, 
As he sailed up Ches'peake bay. 
Ward well was there, and I^ove and 'Kenny White, 
My Maryland's proud quota, and gun and sabre bright ; 
With Wilmer, Woolford, Carpenter and brave Magee, 
Nulton, too, and I^ivingston and chivalrous Pearre. 
The Old Dominion sent her men, 

As she did in days gone by, 
Side by side with the boys from Del. and Penn., 

Resolved to do or die. 

ik ife ik ^ ?k rfi -fe 

"And what of the foe who so vauntingly swore 
A home and a country they'd leave us no more ?" 
Gaither was there — a redoubtable Brook — 

And Marshall and Moore and Crim ; 
Turnbull and Oyster and Waters there, 

And Stokes and Supplee, neat and trim. 
Boykin and Riggs and Carey and Gray, 

And Dalton and gallant Brown ; 
And the Eagle skrieked and the lyion roared, 

E'en while the rain poured down. 
123 



XTbe Sbam Battle. 



Bravely the red-coats fought and fell, 

And who will say me nay 
That they wasted more powder than e'er did Ross? 

In his battle down the bay. 
But, as it was ordered, they fought and ran, 

And the I<ion roared in vain ; 
And the Eagle shrieked, at Pimlico, 
As the boys marched home again. 
Baltimore September 12, 1889. 



124 



IFn /IDemoriam. 

(Written on the death of John L. Thomas, Esq.) 

Autum leaves are falling, falling, 
Radient-hued, to earth returning. 

Ivife ; death ; 'tis but a span ; 
But O how beautiful the transition ; 
The bud — the promise ; full fruiton. 

Why should we mourn? 

Did not thy life the earth adorn? 
Shall not the tree again put forth 
Its bud and bloom in glad new birth? 
T'is meet, indeed, to drop a tear 
Over the bier ; 

But there be tears of sorrow, and of joy. 
And of a life, O friend, like thine, 
Wherein was naught of dross, or base alloy. 

Such lessons do we learn 

How best to serve our kin. 
That in the joy that thou hast been, 
And in the thought thou shall His glory see 
Whose precepts were thy guide, 
Ivost is Death's sting, the grave its victory. 



125 



SHOW Sleep tbe JBrave* 

How sleep these brave ? 
Why, o'er yon lowly grave 

Strew we these flowers ? 
Why, of all these silent dead. 
Above whose forms we lightly tread. 

Why call we them alone, ours? 
Why plant we, on their resting place, 
(Whom from our hearts naught can efface) 

The flag we love so well? 
Are they of kindred so dear 
That, with each recurring year 
On them alone our memories dwell? 

Nay ; yet in our hearts they live, 
Commanding honors we are prone to give 

Alone to them ; 
Aye, honored are they, and e'er will be 
While floats yon flag — emblem of the free, 

A Nation's diadem. 

Ours? Are they ours, or we theirs? 
Turn thou a moment from other cares 

And thoughts, the query ponder. 
Consider the service each the other gave ; 

Either the creditor's here, or in yon grave ; 
Cans't say the debtor's yonder? 

Some fought with the pride of youth ; 
Others, with firm conviction of the truth 
126 



Mow Sleep tbe 3Brav>e. 



That Right must e'er prevail. 
One common thought possessed them all— 
The thought no foe nor danger can appal, 

Nor yet successfully assail. 
Love of country. Can'st gauge the power 
Before which true men bow, and traitor's cower ; 

This was their armor bright ; 
Of such their love, and truth and faith — 

They who lie here ; who met death. 
Rather than Might should conquer Right. 



127 



A Song of Triumph. 
(Air — "Maryland, My Maryland.") 

(1776.) 
When first thy soil invaders trod, 

Maryland, My Maryland ; 
Their blood outpoured upon the sod, 

Maryland, My Maryland; 
Thy sons a heritage bequeathed, 
(None fairer hath the world achieved), 
And sons of sons thy name hath breathed, 

Lovingly, "My Maryland." 

(1812.) 
Nor quenched the light upon thy shore, 

Maryland, My Maryland; 
When Cockburn's guns did belch and roar, 

Maryland, My Maryland ; 
The Briton's steel with steel was met, 
McHenry's flag gleamed brighter yet 
As fled the foe — with sail full set — 

Maryland, My Maryland. 

(1861.) 
Dear Maryland! thou sore wert tried, 

Maryland, My Maryland ; 
When brothers warred — in all their pride, 
Maryland, My Maryland ; 
128 



/IDs /iDar^lauD. 



A mother's grief possessed thee then, 
A mother's love, for sons were slain ; 
They died, but honor didst retain! 
Maryland, My Maryland. 

(1896.) 
And once again, yea, even now, 

Maryland, My Maryland ; 
A garland fair doth deck thy brow, 

Maryland, My Maryland* , 

Behold the victory peace hath wrought ! 
(Nor less renowned, with ballots fought) 
God bless thy choice, thy wisdom sought, 

Maryland, My Maryland. 



*Voted for the Gold standard. 



129 



%ovc is Bver J^oun^. 

%ittle Boy," my wee wife called me, 

Long, long years ago ; 
A bearded boy, e'en then, I do assure thee, 

lyong, long years ago ; 
And some folks smiled to hear such greeting, 
As she, upon her tip-toes meeting 
The kiss I gave her ever welcoming. 

Called me, her '%ittle Boy." 

Years ago? Aye, but just how many, or few, 

I do not choose to say. 
Time enough howe'er, some power, 'tis true. 

Raven locks have turned to gray. 
Enough, to say our "bairns" have grown 
Until, into their eyes — when met her own — 
Wee-wife looks up, while they look down ; 

Still, "lyittle Boy" she calls me. 

The years have brought both joy and sorrow. 

As we traveled on ; 
Clouds today, and sunshine on the morrow, 

As we traveled on ; 
What matter if, along with love's caresses 
Come furrowed brows? and silvered tresses? 
Winter strips the trees of Springtime dresses, 

Yet are they donned again. 

130 



%ovc is 3Ever l!)oung. 



We have had our stress of pain, 

As we traveled on ; 
Submissive, to the Power didst so ordain, 

As we traveled on. 
Not forgot, the pain, and sorrowing. 
But, from love full measure borrowing ; 
Hand in hand makes pleasant journeying 

As we travel on. 

Accounting time in truest measure, 

As we travel on ; 
Time to love — life's best treasure, 

As we travel on ; 
No older are we now, than when 
Callow youth was I, and she a maiden ; — 
Time keeps no score with I^ove, I reckon, 

I^ove is ever young. 



131 



Cbristmas. 

What more pleasant at Christmas tide 

Than thoughts of our own bright youth ; 
When our stockings we hung at chimney side, 

And Saint Nick was no myth, forsooth. 
As we thought then, our child thinks now, 

We but change places with them ; 
The wisdom of youth is but folly, I know. 

But more so, man's "might have been." 
'Twere folly, indeed, if age brings naught 

But a temper soured with care ; 
No tender chord for the past, but fraught 

With the present alone ; of self only aware. 
Our children's joys should be our own ; 

Of sorrow too soon will they taste the sting ; 
Let them sip of the pleasures we have known ; 

Old age may weep, but youth should sing. 
Then let us not forget, my friend. 

That Christmas tide is near ; 
And forget not, too, to make amend 

To Him who loves them dear ; 
Who tells us of His Kingdom, they. 

These children whom we love, 
On whom, while in His arms, did pray 

His Father's blessing from above. 

Then hang up your stocking, little one. 

For Santa Claus is near ; 
While you're asleep his work is done, 

132 



Cbristmas. 



And well done, too, once in each year. 
He knows just what to give you, too, 

Isn't it strange? you say; 
How to replace old toj^s with new ; 

I guess he was a boy himself, one day. 
Perhaps he heard you tell mamma 

What you would like this year ; 
If so, I'm sure she told papa, 

And then you'll get it, never fear. 
For Santa Claus, I'm very, very sure, 

Ivoves all you children, the good, the best ; 
He brings his gifts to rich and poor, 

And greets them all with a merry jest. 
With a bound and hop up he pops 

The chimney stack while you're asleep; 
Fills each little sock, and never stops. 

That all may laugh, that none may weep. 
So hang up your stockings, little one. 

For Santa Claus is near ; 
When you awake, his work is done ; 

He will bring you all good cheer. 



133 



Ube tlot, 

mbo Sucfts Bis ;rbumb. 

(Song.) 

Did you ever know a little tot 
Who howled with all his might ; 
Whom nothing you could do would please 
If "Ma" was out of sight ; 
Have you tried your level best in vain, 
Till you were tired and glum, 
To soothe that chap who never learned 
To substitute his thumb. 

Chorus. 

Soothing syrup, patent food, 
Sugar coated pills ; 
Homeopath or Allopath 
Castor oil or squills ; 
Paregoric, roots or herbs. 
When they are troublesome, 
They all get dosed but Pap's own boy- 
The tot who sucks his thumb. 

You may try to coax the little man, 

May let him pull your hair. 

Or for your "tootsy wootsy" boy 

Play kangaroo or bear ; 

You may let him "see ze w'eels go wound" 

Or bang upon the drum ; 

He'll yell for mamma all the while 

Unless he sucks his thumb. — Cho, 
134 



Ube xrot. 

You may talk about your cure-for-all's, 

It is a pleasant dream ; 

We see 'em posted everywhere, 

An advertising stream ; 

Of all the ills the babe is heir 

They may be good for some, 

But while he's waiting for his Ma, 

There's nothing like his thumb.— Cho. 



135 



(Tune: Red, White and Blue.) 

Columbia, thy children are calling, 

Are calling from hillside and plain, 
The voice of the nation out-ringing, 

"Avenge thee, avenge thee the Maine!" 
Bereft of their lives without warning. 

Our brothers, so gallant and true, 
' ' Arouse thee ! ' ' the cry , and " Avenge them ! ' ' 
Who died for the Red, White and Blue. 

Chorus. 
Three cheers for the Red, White and Blue, &c. 

Our Comrade — thou Head of the Nation, 

We love thee, thy station revere ; 
We pledge thee a steadfast devotion. 

Thro' trials thou'rt called on to bear. 
Thou knowest of old "The Grand Army," 

Who e'er to their colors proved true, 
We counsel 7wt war, bzd are ready 

To die for the Red, White and Blue. — Cho. 

A country united we pledge thee, 

Wepledgethee "TheBlue" and "The Gray," 
The West and the East, the proud Southland, 

The Northmen we pledge thee for aye. 
One heart and one hand we thee offer, 

While here we our pledge now renew. 
Our fealty, Columbia, forever ; 

Three cheers for the Red, White and Blue. — Cho. 

136 



©oo&ness *ttet>er Dies, 

Suggested by the tablet In Memoriam to Mrs. Isabella 
Brown. 

Within God's house, upon the wall 

I saw a tablet — white, and pure, 
And graved thereon (translated) 

"Her life's work doth endure." 
I closed mine eyes ; and blotted out 

Were words, and marble ; riven 
And crumbled to dust; naught remained 

Of tribute man had'st given. 
And yet again (as in a dream) beheld 

I then the record — white, and pure, 
Upheld by angels, in a Book of Gold, 

"Her life's work doth endure." 

* >K * 

Perished are the things of earth. 

In the balance — God's scale — 
Goodness outweighs a Croesus' wealth. 

Riches, and power of naught avail 
When, with the record thou hast made, 

Thou comest to thy last abode. 
Well, well shall it be with thee 

If there be writ "lyittle had he, 
But what he had, he gave to God." 



137 



jforwarC)! domraOes, 

(Tune: " Onward Christian Soldieri") 

Forward! Comrades, forward, 

Marching as of yore, 
With "Old Glory" waving 

Ever, as before ; 
Elbow touching elbow, 

As the years roll on ; 
Comradeship ne'er failing. 

Love the stronger grown. 

Chorus. 
Forward, Comrades, &c. 

Forward, was our motto, 

Onward, ever on, 
Where the path of duty 

Called for val'rous men ; 
Where our standard, waving, 

Glistened in the sun, 
Lighting up the darkness, 

When the way seemed vain. — Cho. 

Men, who fought, and conquered, 
The goal — a Nation's life ; 

Courage never falt'ring. 
Waging noble strife ; 

138 



IforwarM Comra&e5. 



Comrades, brave and loyal, 

Comrades ever true, 
One in heart, and purpose, 

We were "Boys in Blue." — Cho. 

Crowned at last with vict'ry, 

We are home once more ; 
Brothers, reunited, 

Ne'er again to war ; 
Side by side now standing, 

They who' dare, beware! 
'Ware the Kagle's talons! 

Touch not stripe, nor star! — Cho. 

We are in the gloaming. 

Waiting dawn of day, 
To join our Comrades yonder 

Fearing not the way ; 
Where the Great Commander, 

Still will lead us on. 
Saying "Comrades, forward! 

Welcome 'Boys,' well done!" — Cho. 



139 



®ur jfirst Born. 

How is't my step's more light, 

And eye more bright than wont to be, 

Is that your question? 
Ah, then, you've not heard the news, 
Or surely, you'd not ask, but know 

The reason. 
We've a new joy, little mother and I, 
A little one, surely, but then yo\x know, 

It fills our hearts. 
The cup was full — between us two — before, 
And so, ever so little was quite enough 

To run it over. 
We've not many riches, little mother and I, 
But — between you and me — riches are less 

Than this new joy. 
'Tis singular, mayhap, but yet 'tis true. 
With every day it creeps closer in — 

Between us two. 
Oh, you guess what it is, do you? 
Well, then, there's no need to tell. 
But I will say, that mother, and baby 

Are both very well. 



140 



jftremen, Mell "Bond 

(Dedicated to the Baltimore Fire Department.) 

A cheerless night. The rain, 
Driven by the wind, beats fitfully 

On roof, and window pane. 
Streets are deserted, save here and there 

Some flitting figure that. 
Breasting the storm in busied care 

Which brooks not of delay, 

Doth shelter still forbear. 

The lights are dim ; fiercer the blast. 
Tangled, and twisted by the gale. 

The clustered wires (like angry harp 
Whose strings some mighty hand doth smite) 
Give forth a wail the air doth fright. 
And then, upon the darkness of the night 

An hundred spears of light ; 
Striving for mastery. 

On sweep the flames. 
Fed by the wind, (a giant bellows) 

They higher, higher rise, 

Illumining the skies. 
While myriad shoots — madly af right, 

Displace the stars of night. 

Hark ! From out the walls 
Which yonder lie, what cry is that appals? 

"The jail! The jail's on fire!" 
Five hundred souls are there ; 
141 



fivemcn, WicU Done! 



What should it prove their funeral pyre? 
Imprisoned, barred with lock and key, 

O God ! and can it be 
'Tis thus they're doomed to die? 

Hail! noble hearts, 'twas bravely done. 
Thro' fire, and smoke, as stroke on stroke 

Proclaims of victory won ; 
No thought of self didst dominate. 

Thine arms to enervate. 

Blow on blow. The ponderous lock. 
Nor bolt or bar survive the shock. 
Before the axe wide flies each door. 
Out from their prison cell they pour, — 

God's children, all. 
If even so some knew him not. 

In that dread hour. 

Frenzied of fear, some call His name. 
As nearer rolls the seething flame 

That threatens them with death ; 
Heart-rending cries, to God, and man ; 

Prayers ; curses ; pandemonium. 
Blow on blow ; still on, and on — 
While yet remains imprisoned one — 
While yet thy chief* (in foulest canopy) 
Falls prone, bereft of sensibility ; 

On, and on, still on ye pressed 
Till all (save one) the holocaust 

Doth 'scape, and he — 

Blinded of fate, leaps to — eternity. 

* * * * 

142 



^firemen, IRHeU Bone! 



Thank God! And ye, O noble souls, 
Who know not self, when danger calls ; 
Thank God, thy heart thy arm doth nerve 
To manly deeds — thy fellows so to serve. 

Firemen, well done ! 
*Assistant Chief Dunn. 



143 



The gate ajar, I entered, 
And, standing within the Kirk-yard 
And 'neath a broad spread oak 

Had sheltered many who, 
From following some had passed beyond, 

Came once again, unknowingly, 

To such sweet place of rest, 
I gazed about me. 
Upon the highest mound, and rich 
In all the lavish treasure of the sculptors art ; 
Graved deep, line upon line 
Telling of him who slept beneath ; 
Of the coming, and the parting, death ; 

Of birth, and ancestry ; 
The life which, (if no lie be told) 
Had much contained all men might emulate : — 
There stood a monument. 

The while I gazed. 
With faltering step, and deep humility, 
Another came ; and — nor pausing 
One poor glance even to bestow 
Toward the spot had caught my fancy — 

Passed on, and on, until 
(I knew not why my sight seemed so enchained) 
I saw her reach a lowly mound 
And kneeling, with feeble, loving hand 
Didst turn aside a creeping vine 

144 



xrbe •Rirft*13ar&. 



Hadst all but covered one dear name. 

lyingering, I scarce knew why — 
Except respect to such a presence — 
Aside her footsteps turned, 
I too didst kneel beside the mound ; 

Reverently, with tender touch I turned aside 

The lowly vine, and read — 
'Twas fashioned homely there — 
'Loving God, He Lived, and Died." 



145 



JLbc Bivouac. 

'Tis night. The 'battled host, 

Wearied, footsore, in sleep is lost. 

All save the guard, who, the smouldering 

Watch fires gathered round, 
Are silent all, to catch each sound. 
I^ong and toilsome hath been the way, 
Doubly welcome the close of day ; 
And 'morrow's dawn, albeit so near 
Is yet far off — to him lies sleeping there. 
Sleeping, dreams he of home, and friends, 
Of those he loves ; of peaceful ends. 
Dreams mayhap, of war, a soldier's fame ; 
Glory ; honor ; death ; shame. 
Dreaming, he wakes to find it but a dream, 
And sleeping, sleeps but to dream again. 
Breaks on his ear — "Time for relief!" 
O blest (or wretched) hour, how brief 
Hath been thy passing — to him ; 
And yet, who is't could limn 
With brush or pen, its history? 
The fashioning of sleep's dark mystery? 
So passes night ; the only sound 
The tramp of guard the camp around. 
Or mayhap, the sentry's "Who goes there!" 
Falling quick and sharp on the startled air, 
As on and on adown the line — 
Exchanging now and then the countersign — 
Goes the relief ; and then — 
"All's well :" The camp doth sleep again. 

146 



mvc la 3Bops in Blue. 

(vSong.) 

Let every old Veteran fill up his cup, 

Vive la Boys in Blue ; 
Let the toast go round while we merrily sup, 

Vive la Boys in Blue ; 
To the Stars and the Stripes ! flag of the free ; 
Flag that with Sherman marched, triumphed o'er Lee'; 
Nailed to the mast, conquered at sea ; 

Flag of the Boys in Blue. 

Our might was the Right as we struck ev'ry blow, 

Vive la Boys in Blue ; 
Nor faltered till conquered we ev'ry armed foe, 

Vive la Boys in Blue ; 
Till the Stars and the Bars, swept from the wave ; 
From the Lakes to the Gulf, freed ev'ry slave ; 
Thy stars "Old Glory," new lustre gave — 

Flag of the Boys in Blue. 

When their arms were laid down remembered we then, 

Vive la Boys in Blue ; 
Our brothers of old were our brothers again, 

Vive la Boys in Blue ; 
"With malice to none" then gave them our hand, 
Who had loved them of yore, loving our land ; 
Foes never more ; ever to stand 
All of us Boys in Blue. 
147 



IDfve la aBoi?5 in JSlue. 



Then ev'ry old Veteran fill up his cup, 

Vive la Boys in Blue ; 
Let the pledge go round as we cheerily sup, 

Vive la Boys in Blue ; 
To the Stars and the Stripes ! flag ever dear ; 
To the Union we saved ! Lives we revere ! 
Maryland's Sons! join ye the cheer — 

Flag of the Boys in Blue ! 



148 



(Political.) 

The dearest spot on earth to me 

Is Hawaii, sweet Hawaii ; 
Its vine clad hills of emerald green, 
Its deep blue sky, the silver sheen 
Tossed high in air where breakers roll 

Against the cliffs ; sweet music to my soul ; 
The song-birds' notes, set all attune 
L/ike lovers' hearts in fond commune ; 

I close mine eyes and sing to thee — 
Thou dearest spot on earth to me ; 

Hawaii, dear Hawaii. 

'Twas thus the modern David sang. 

Of Hawaii, fair Hawaii ; 
Ere yet — for him — King William's* mien 
Entranced his sight ; Nebraska rolled between ; 
Ere yet had'st learned another song, 

(The plaudits echoed, loud and long) 
That as Prince, 'twas his to plead 
'Gainst kingly bent, and royal greed ; 

To William knelt, on bended knee 
Didst sing "Take thou the crown O King! to thee 

1 give my Hawaii, dear Hawaii." 

*Wm. J. Bryan. 



149 



Boss ot 'Sixts*©ne. 

(Tune: "Marching thro' Georgia.") 

Lift on high your glasses, boys, and clink 

A merry chime, 
Ring them with the spirit of the boys of 

Olden time. 
When gun and sabre turned the rhyme — 

From 'sixty-one to five — 
The grand old song "For the Union." 

Chorus. 

Hip, hip! Hip, hip! We're boys of '61, 

Hurrah ! Hurrah ! for victory well won, 

Old Glory's stars undimmed now shine 

From gulf to lake, and sea. 

All keep step to the Union. 

'Boys" they called us in the field, the "Boys 

Who wore the Blue," 
And though our heads are silvered now, our 

Hearts are young and true 
As when "To arms!" the bugle blew — 

Calling us away — 
To march and fight for the Union. — Cho. 

True, we're getting on in years, but — 

Only just for fun — 
We boys would like to take a whack, against 

The Spanish Don, 

150 



Boi?s ot 'Sixti?«©ne. 



We'll back Old Sammy — Blue and Gray, 

Every mother's son — 
To put Cuba's star in the Union. — Cho. 

Our ranks are growing thinner boys, 

Every passing year, 
We'll soon be mustered out below, to 

Join the boys up there ! 
All present and accounted for. 

Comrades there, as here, 
May God bless the grand old army. — Cho. 



151 



B Ubouabt 

(Dedicated to My Life Companion.) 

This the sadness : the thought 
To wake some day, and in thy face 
My best beloved, to mark the trace 

Of lines as yet unknown ; 
Across the smoothness of thy brow — 
Now white and pure as driven snow — 

Behold a furrow age has sown ; 
As pressed thy hand in mine, to feel 
Another than the wonted touch, the thrill 
Is bom of passing time. This the sadness. 

This the gladness. The thought, 
Tho' unto Him alone the volume of thy age, 
To me is given to adorn each page 

With added brightness ; 
Into thy daily life a memory infuse 
Of loving care bestowed — lest night refuse 

Its recompense of sweet repose. 
So at the last, though furrows mar 
Thy cheek, thy heart no impress bear, 

Reflex of sorrow. This the gladness. 



152 



®l& H)eten&ers. 

(Acrostic.) 

O long to be remembered day. 
lyOSt in the maze of recollection 
Doth wonder that we stand apart? 

Dead were thy faculties, O heart, 
Ere we — ^the children of such sires. 
Forgetting day, and deeds, could recreant prove to such 

a trust. 
Even as this day's bright sun 
(Nearing its zenith in the heavens) 

Doth mark a course well run, 
Even so thy pathway — hero, sage, 
Reflecting rays of patriotism, and truth. 
Serves as a beacon light, to us of later day, and age. 



153 



Ube TKaet)Wna Bell. 

Ring out, ring out, O Bell, 

In tones so sweet that evermore 

With her I love the memory shall dwell. 

For thee, O love, all sorrows flown, 

lyike stars along life's pathway strewn, 

May each concordant note foretell 

Of joys alone, a blessed symphony. 

Ring out, ring out, O Bell ; 

And may the silvery tongue 

From my love's brow all clouds dispel. 

And if perchance should clouds arise. 

Or tear-drop mar the sunlight of thine eyes, 

Then may some fairy hand, to break the spell. 

Chime out the melody. 



154 



Welcome tbe Bo^s in Blue. 

Note : Written on the occasion of the Grand Army of 
the Republic National Encampment in Baltimore, when Lee 
Camp, of Richmond, Va., were present by invitation. 

Welcome the brave, the loyal and true ; 
Welcome the " Boys who wore the Blue ;" 
Welcome, survivors of many a fight ; 
Thrice welcome all who fought for the right. 

In the days now long and happily passed, 
On the side of the Union your fortunes ye cast ; 
With no thought save country marched to the field, 
Determined to die, but never to yield. 

In many a valley, on many a plain 
Lie the bones of your comrades — the unfortunate slain ; 
They, honored in death ; ye, honored in life, 
Kqual honor to all who fought in the strife. 

Assembled once more in our peace loving land, 
Our hearts beat responsive, hand clasp'd within hand; 
Remembering, o'er all. Him to whom homage is due; 
Ordained that the victory should rest with the Blue. 

And last, but not least, we forget not the foe, 
Whom we loved in our hearts, tho' our guns laid them 

low ; 
United again those who met in the fray. 
Welcome all, all welcome, the Blue and the Gray. 

155 



Sweet IDiolets. 

The flower thou gav'st to me is dead ; 
Yet does the memory linger still, 
Sweet as the fragrance which it shed 

When from thy fair hand — 
And with a look did all my being thrill — 
Thou gav'st it me. 

Loving, thy gift and glance — like fairy wand — 
Unlocked the door of deep despair 
And bade them hence — the fears and doubts 

Which did my heart possess, 
And in their stead, forever sheltered there, 
(Pity me, Love, if mind the heart deceived) 
Welcomed I peace, joy, happiness. 



156 



Bven Tanto Deatb. 

Con amor mio ! look thou in mine eyes 

And tell me — mirrored there 

E'en as yon moon the lake inurned 

Reveals a radiance bright — 
What dost thou there behold? 
I would that thou should'st see, ora sempre, 
lyove's reflex, and in thine eyes, upturned, 

Rejoicing see a kindred light. 
Close-pent, I would thy heart in mine enf old- 
Enraptured love within each breast ; — 
Your arms about me close entwined, 
In death, so would I seek eternal rest. 



157 



®n tbe Battle 3Ftel&» 

A soldier, 'twas his to hear, and then, obey. 

Of courage high, the path of duty plain, 
'Twas his to fight ; to fail, was to betray. 

And here he lies ; engrasped his hand 
The standard he had loved, so nobly borne. 

While comrades, 'round him, reverant stand. 
Of pain his face no impress bears, but yet a smile 

As if — when came Death's messenger, ere while, 
Beyond the pale of strife, the battle o'er, 

A victor's wreath he saw, and heard a voice 
Which hailed him " Conqueror." 



158 



nave 3fattb! 

I bid you, have faith! 
From the cradle to the grave 'twill stand 

Thee, mortal, well in hand. 
Faith in thyself, but paramount, of God, 
Who gav'st thee life, and doth of thee demand 

A full return of thine abode. 
God plants the seed ; the seed of human life ; 
lyike the sunshine and the rain — to flowers, 
Is it not so of human strife ? 

Not all of sunshine is our need, 
Lest we, mayhap, become enervate ; 
But each, in turn, the sun and rain, 

That we the hardier grow ; — 
Such be our fate. 



159 



Fugitives are they, caught and bound ; 
If in the reading some pleasure thou hast found, 

Or perchance, suggestive thought 
For good, not ill, then is my work well wrought. 
An' thou wilt, say of them "They're very crude, 
But honest," I will not hold thee rude ; 

'%ack erudition, not sentiment," 
Believe me, I'll thank you for the compliment. 



160 



,AY 16 1902 



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